


Putting the Damage On

by Zippa6



Series: Where She Most Satisfies [1]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Angst, Angsty Farce, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, F/M, Farce, Fluff, Hux Has No Chill, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Love/Hate, Medium smut, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Relationships, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Polyamory, Poor Hux, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Romance, Self-Harm, angsty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-04-24 02:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 147,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zippa6/pseuds/Zippa6
Summary: “I need advisers,” he says. “Not more of Hux’s people, raised up through the First Order. My own people.”“I don’t belong to you. I don’t want to.”His face remains impassive, but he shifts in his seat, leaning back. I picture his posture, his long legs folded in front of him. “That is not what I meant,” he says. “By my own people, I mean people like me.”“Jedi?”“I’m not a Jedi.” He speaks the word like he wants set it on fire.“Yeah, you and me both,” I say. “Then Force sensitive people, you mean. From what I recall, things don’t turn out so well for our kind of people around you.”





	1. The Kids Have Run Away

**Author's Note:**

> Eight years ago, Mira Galan survived the Jedi Killer. Having escaped the fate of the other students, she hid on the Outer Rim planet Gaia. Kylo Ren has found her, but his intentions are not what she fears: The Supreme Leader, still tormented during what should be his moment of greatest triumph, seeks the counsel of someone who once knew him. But his return to her life places them both in danger, Kylo Ren of seeking the light, and Mira of falling into darkness.  
> Updates on Monday and Thursday for now.
> 
> The title is that of the Tori Amos song. The full lyric is "Boy, you still look pretty when you're putting the damage on."
> 
> If you're interested in my other writing, there are links on my [website](http://jenniferdeguzman.com/prose/). (I also write [comics](http://jenniferdeguzman.com/comics-portfolio)!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A call from an old friend turns Mira Galan's world upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter for this chapter is from "Regret" by New Order
> 
> (See endnotes for link to my full writing playlist.)
> 
> If you enjoy this fic, please feel free to share it with friends!

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Spring, 36 ABY** _

I’m making breakfast when the comlink beeps. _His_ comlink, the private, secure one I set up according to his precise instructions on the same day as when he found me again. I’m slicing fruit, and my fingers are stained red with dragonfruit juice.

“Good morning, Supreme Leader,” I say, not looking up.

He doesn’t answer immediately. I lick some of the juice from my thumb and finally raise my eyes, and there he is on the little holoprojector in my kitchen, ten inches tall, the black of his clothes throwing off  the contrast of the hologram. His image fritzes and wavers for a couple of seconds, and then comes into focus. He is seated, uncomfortably it looks to me — but then the Ben Solo I knew was always uncomfortable in some way — his elbows on his knees, the fingers of his gloved hands interlaced under his chin.

With a flick of my fingers, I direct the holoprojector to zoom in on him, so I see just his shoulders and face. That face. Scarred and exhausted, now. _Beautiful Ben_ , we called him in the girls’ dormitory of the Temple, giggling under our rough coverlets at night. We got away with more than the boys, since there wasn’t a matron at the Temple until well after it opened to students. The dark-haired nephew of Master Luke was a favorite subject then — we took bets on who was going to spar with him next.

I didn’t ask what happened to him that first time, when I saw his face again after so many years. I had heard — the girl, the battle, the death of Snoke. Of Luke.

“Mira,” he says. And then nothing. My name. The one I hadn’t heard anyone speak in eight years, until that first call from him came through.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Supreme Leader? Or are you calling on Armitage’s behalf? Is he too shy to call me himself? Tell him of course I’ll go to prom with him, he just has to _ask_.”

His lip curls so slightly that I felt the change of expression more than see it. “What is your obsession with General Hux?” he asks. “The man is an ass.”

I shrug. “What can I say, I love a tall ginger. Tell him that, would you?” I plop the cut dragonfruit into the food blender. “Hold on, this is going to be loud.”

“What is?”

In way of answer, I turn on the blender, talking to him all the while it runs because I know it will frustrate him. “You probably have somebody or a droid or something to do this for you, right? When was the last time the Supreme Leader made himself breakfast?”

“Stop — I can’t hear —”

“You probably are one of those guys who drinks those horrible blue milk protein shakes, aren’t you? Too busy to eat, what with a galaxy to command and all.” I turn off the blender.

“I sense that you’re somewhat hostile to me, Mira.”

I frown. The way he says my name is the same as when we were younglings in the Temple, talking as we sparred with staffs or practiced our calligraphy. As if he hadn’t brought the Temple down into a pile of rubble and fire. As if he never were a Knight of Ren. As if he weren’t the _fucking Supreme Leader of the First Order_.

As if he weren’t talking to me because he can’t talk to someone else.

I pour the juice into a glass. It overflows. Again, I lick red dragonfruit juice from my skin. “Ben, what do you want?”

He winces when I say _his_ name, but I can’t help it. I’ve never known him as Kylo Ren. He is only _Ben_. Ben, whose hands I held sometimes at night when the dark was encroaching on him so fearfully that I could feel it like a shadow over his presence in the Force — and over mine, too, when I touched him — and that we fought off together.

“I don’t understand how you are… _satisfied_ with the life you’re living,” he says. “You are capable of so much more.”

“ _More_? As in serving the First Order? No, thank you.”

“Not serving the First Order. Fulfilling your potential.”

“Isn’t that the same pitch your Uncle Luke gave to my mother?” I say, cuttingly.

He hates when I talked about the past. But why else is he talking to me? The past is all we have. We were no one to each other in the present. Nothing. Until he found me. I am the only one left.

“You wouldn’t believe how much what you’re doing out there on one of those dreadnought monstrosities that Hux built — tell him it’s very impressive, though, don’t tell him I called it that — how much _it doesn’t matter_ out here. The First Order doesn’t care about the daughter of a former slave girl who writes bad poetry and works in a shop on an Outer Rim world, Ben. It doesn’t care about _me_. I like it that way.”

“I need advisers,” he says. “Not more of Hux’s people, raised up through the First Order. Not the Knights of Ren. My _own_ people.”

“Yours yours yours,” I say. “I don’t belong to you. I don’t want to.”

His face remains impassive, but he shifts in his seat, leaning back. I picture his posture, his long legs folded in front of him. “That is not what I meant,” he says. “By my own people, I mean people _like_ me.”

“Jedi?”

“I’m not a Jedi.” He speaks the word like he wants set it on fire.

“Yeah, you and me both,” I say. “Then Force sensitive people, you mean. From what I recall, things don’t turn out so well for our kind of people around you.”

I feel my jaw clenching as I say it, and I mean it, all the hate behind what I say, but I also regret it. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, who used to be Ben Solo, is fumbling toward something, and he needs me to finally grasp it in his hands. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, who prefers not to remember he used to be Ben Solo, is also dangerous and could snuff out my life like a candle and maybe think just as little about it afterward.

I look down at my own hands, one holding the glass so tightly I fear I might break it. I set it down and then look up and meet his eyes. They are as dark and sad and questioning as ever.

“You don’t know what you are,” I say. “You never did.”

He nods, looking at the floor. “You’re right,” he says.

So much depends on what I do. The most powerful person in the galaxy is asking me for help. I’m the only one left.

“That’s a start,” I say. “Ask me about this again sometime, Ben Solo.”

I disconnect from him and switch off his comlink. Just for a few days.

* * *

 

Master Luke dispensed with the old Jedi teaching about forbidding personal attachments. We were children like other children — we had friends and family. We wore clothes from our own cultures, not Padawan robes and braids. We learned games before we were allowed to spar. We had individual talents. I was good at writing and dancing; Ben was good at drawing and calligraphy.

Master Luke tried to dispense with the old blood quantum ideas of the Jedi, too — no more with midichlorian counts and ancestral charts. But Ben was still the strongest and most sensitive of us, still the Skywalker. It made it impossible to completely discount the hierarchy of heredity. We could never be equals.

When he calls again, I am in my studio practicing a whirling dance, holding candles flat on the palms of my hands as I spin, seeing what there was to see in the flames. I sit on the floor, panting slightly, with my full black skirt billowed around me and then sprawl with my belly on the worn hardwood floor, leaning on my elbows.

“Do you think you’re not strong enough?” he asks. “Why do you refuse?”

I regard his face in the holoprojection. I close my eyes for a moment and try to remember the texture of his skin, the shape of his rare smiles. I realize I’m smiling as I think of it.

“What is amusing,” he says, not even intoning it as a question.

I don’t say that I am thinking of us hunched over a desk, whispering as he illustrated my poetry, intertwining flowers and light sabers in the border. “I’m thinking about why the Knights of Ren wore those masks,” I say instead. “You did it to what — hide? Intimidate?”

He kind of grunts in reply.

“To control the mindset of your opponents. Yes?”

A motion of a gloved hand tells me to continue.

“Remember how —”

He frowns. I’m bringing up the past again.

“Remember how Master Luke said that if your opponent isn’t reacting the way you want, look to yourself? Look to how your actions are driving them in the wrong direction.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“So?”

He grunts again.

“So — it’s not me,” I say. “It’s you.” I sit up again and tuck my legs under me. “Something I’ve never had to tell Armitage, incidentally.”

“ _Hux again_.”

I laugh. I’m taking my own advice, letting my behavior drive him to where I want him. I want to remind him, he who doesn’t want to look back, of when he was Ben Solo. To tell him that Miranda Galan stood by his side when he was Ben Solo, never when he was Kylo Ren.

I used to try to make him jealous, praising the other students for things he knew he did better than they did, praising them for traits he lacked.

“Look at Asha’s footing during her parry,” I might say. “It’s perfect, and so light — because she has such tiny feet.”

And he would look at his big feet in their boots and frown furiously until I laughed and whispered, “Look at Ben Solo’s scowl. It’s perfect, and so serious — because has such large feelings.”

It sounds cruel, thinking back on it, but it was the only way to tell him how I felt about him, because he would turn away from me if I ever spoke earnestly about it. If I could rile him by praising others, he knew that it meant I admired something about him. If I laughed at the traits in him that were infuriatingly, expressly _Ben_ , he knew that I knew him better than anyone. And accepted him, large feelings and all. Especially. And so I teased.

So I tease.

“You ask me, _why Hux_? but that’s something you should be asking yourself, Ben,” I say. “How would Hux ask me to come be part of his entourage?”

“It won’t be an entourage,” he says, and stands. The holocamera where ever he is — it looks like a large room with a huge window overlooking an even larger room that is busy with movement, like an ant farm — follows him as he walks with his hands clasped behind his back. My image, almost life-sized, floats with him on a sleek hovering holoprojector, very fancy, very First Order tech.

As if summoned — and who knows, maybe he was; the Force and I work together in mysterious ways these days — a tall officer strides into the room behind Ben. His shoulders are shifted forward, his hands slightly balled. He’s upset. Ben turns, his back remaining to his holocamera.

“Armitage!” I cry, before Ben can say anything. “Hello, fancy seeing you again!” Hux looks disoriented for a moment, finally placing the source of my voice to my holo figure hovering near Ben. I wave, wiggling my fingers. “I was just telling the Supreme Leader that he should take you as an example if he wants to influence me.”

“Errr—” Hux says.

“But you know _all about that._ ” I wink. “You should come visit me sometime. I know you’re a _very_ busy general, but if you do, maybe you can convince the Supreme Leader to come along with you.”

Ben turns momentarily back to his cam. “Mira,” he says sharply before turning back to Hux. “General Hux, do you have something to tell me?”

“Erm,” he says, glancing at my holo image. “I was going to — that is, I can see you are otherwise engaged, Supreme Leader. I’ll speak to you when you’ve finished your business with Ms. Galan.” He nods at me and then spins on his heel and strides out the way he came in.

“Bye, Armitage!” I call after him. “Remember what I said!”

Ben sighs and the cam follows him as he crosses the room and sinks back down on the large square chair — very thronelike, very imposing — that he had been sitting in. “I suppose I should thank you for getting rid of him for me.”

“Poor Hux,” I say. “What must he think of me. But this just goes to show you — you should have talked to me yourself first instead of sending him.”

“I thought… I thought you might not be amenable to me.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps it’s more like — there are these waterfowl here on Gaia, ducks — they imprint on whatever creature is nearest them when they hatch. They treat it like their parent, even if it’s an animal entirely unsuited for the job. I’m like a duckling, and I’ve imprinted on Hux.”

“Why,” Ben says, his voice almost laconic, “can you not be _serious_?”

“Oh, Ben,” I say. “I’ve seen what happens when Force users are _so very_ serious.”

He glances up at me. And this time, he’s the one who closes the comlink connection. I return to looking at the candles, which are still burning.

* * *

It _is_ cruel to reject Ben Solo. It is his weakness. He’d never been able to see that a rejection can be a reason to change, even if changing won’t ultimately get you what you want. Hux did get what he wanted, though. He contacted with me with the goal of getting me to speak to the Supreme Leader, and I did. Why did I not reject his offer? Because from the moment I saw him, I knew what he was. He was annoyed that he was being treated as Kylo Ren’s messenger boy and simply wanted to dispense with his task in the most straightforward way possible so that he could get back to his war machine. And seeing that, I accepted his offer. But Ben, Kylo Ren, the Supreme Leader — I don’t know what he is. Each communication with him isn’t a rejection, really. It’s a process of discovery. For both of us.

And so I tease him, to show him that I wish he would do what Hux did — to ask me to do something simply because he wants me to do it. To say, “Mira, come be my friend like you used to be because I need a friend right now,” not tempt me with prestige and power like Satan in the wilderness.

That story is something else from this planet where I’ve been living. I should tell it to Ben some time.

My regular comlink beeps and I answer it absently, without looking to see who is calling. “Yes?”

“Ms. Galan?” The voice is clipped, perfunctory, but also hesitant. Surely not —

I whirl around and see him. Hux. He’s taken off his hat and is biting on his lip and looking off to the side. _This man is evil_ , I remind myself. _He is responsible for the deaths of millions_. It’s hard to remember that about Armitage Hux when he looks so ridiculously befuddled. I am sure he’s quite effective when he’s in his element.

Speaking to me is clearly not that. He’s been uncomfortable every time he’s spoken to me. Is it because he’s a lifetime military man and I’m a civilian? Or because I knew Ben Solo? Or perhaps it’s just that I’m a woman.

So about me: Human, the same age as Ben Solo, more or less. My skin is light brown, my eyes are dark brown, and my hair is straight and black. I like my face well enough. Hux has never seen me with shoes on because I never wear them in my house. In this way, I feel our positions are leveled somewhat. Still, he is nervous.

“I felt it was necessary for me to inquire if your offer was a serious one,” Hux says. He blinks quickly, his nearly invisible ginger lashes giving him a wide-eyed look.

“Oh, I’m never serious,” I say. “Just ask the Supreme Leader. It’s a source of great frustration to him.”

Hux purses his lips and then breathes out slowly. Evidently, I am frustrating him too. “Madam,” he says. _Madam_! “It’s not my place to speculate on your past relationship with the Supreme Leader, so I cannot speak to _why_ you should accept his offer. However, I have my own reasons for hoping that your presence might have a… regulating influence on him.”

I start to reply with something flip, but restrain myself. “So the First Order is in chaos, is it? The new Supreme Leader isn’t leading as his generals would wish. Why should I want the wheels of your machine greased, General Hux?”

I swear, he almost seems crestfallen that I’m not flirting with him. “It is quite all right if you call me Ar —” He cuts himself off. “I see,” he says simply, his jaw working. “Please do not tell him that I spoke to you.”

I see him motion to close the connection, so I hold up a hand. “Wait!”

He looks up.

“Armitage. Why? Why did he call me?” And blast it all, I hear my voice break.

He glances down, standing in his officer’s stance with his hands behind his back. “I believe, Ms. Galen, that he needs someone.”

“I’d be a poor substitute for whom he really wants,” I say.

He cocks his head to the side. “You know--” He stops himself.

“Yes, I know about _her,”_ I say, though I know less than I’ll let on — a young woman who made him feel safe and not alone, her presence, and then her absence.

“How? We’ve carefully controlled the messaging —”

“You don’t know,” I say, realizing he truly is ignorant of how I knew Ben Solo. “I was never as strong in the Force as he is, but we trained together. I feel her in his thoughts.”

Hux is silent for a few moments, processing this new information in that tech mind of his. “More of you,” he mutters. “But I thought all the students in the Temple were... eliminated.”

“Oh, yes,” I say. “Everybody but me. Last one alive, and still second choice. Lucky, aren’t I?”

Hux sighs somewhat impatiently.

“I know, he does leave a mess in his wake, doesn’t he? He always has. Anyway, get him to tell me what you told me. And then maybe I’ll see you soon, Armitage,” I say brightly as I close the comlink.


	2. Why Do You Hang Around?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren and Mira, still speaking over com links from across the galaxy, confront the darker side of their shared history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a bit early! Not earning our rating yet, but soon...
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “Suedehead” by Morrissey.
> 
> (See the end notes for a link to my full writing playlist.)

**_Bonny Doon, Gaia, Early Summer, 36 ABY_ **

Whether Hux tried or not, I don’t know, but Ben does _not_ make a plea for friendship the next time he calls. Instead, he is angry, pacing in what looks to be private quarters — it’s so hard to tell _what_ these severely decorated First Order rooms are — as he throws his arms out, gesticulating. I remember this Ben, too.

He is not wearing his usual austere black tunic and pants tucked into boots. The tunic is gone, with just the loose black shirt that he probably wore under it. The hems of his pants are on the floor because he is barefoot — I think of my own observation about Hux never seeing me with shoes on.

What is he even angry about?

“ _Everything_ ,” he is spitting. “Everything is moving so damnably sideways, and nothing is being done the way I require it, Mira. And _Hux_ — _Hux_ . You must have Nightsister blood in you because you have _bewitched_ that fool. He’s stumbling around like a — like a —”

“Drunk Dug?” I offer.

I was making a pot when he called, and this time my hands have clay on them instead of red dragonfruit juice or lit candles.

“Something like that.” He sits down, on a square stool this time, and _seethes_. “You didn’t really mean it, did you? About him visiting? He seems to think you did.”

“Maybe I did.”

There is a sparring drone ball on the table next him. He picks it up and launches it against the wall. I hear its pieces scatter. “ _DAMN IT_ . _Why? Why are you doing this?”_ he yells, and his hands are in his hair, which has gotten longer than even when were kids, as his head hangs. “You have always been like this. Joking. Teasing. Playing fucking games. But even then — even —”

He is fighting hard against remembering, against the past.

“Even then what?” I ask.

“Even then you were _there_. You were there when I needed you. And then you were gone.”

I stand to go wash my hands, and my little rolling holo camera follows me. I concentrate very hard on the water as it runs over my skin. I scrub. I uncover my brown skin beneath the gray of the clay.

“You know why,” I say. “Why I wasn’t there.”

“Yes. You went home.”

“Yes,” I said. “My mother. She was sick. I went to her, and then she died.” I say the words unflinchingly, knowing they will make him think of his own mother, of Leia.

“And while I was grieving, I heard.” I decide I will deliver another blow. “Your mother — Leia, she came and told me. And as she spoke, I could see it all.. The stones crashing down, the fire. My friends — all of them dead, all of them.

“I felt the Dark Side, Ben. I felt it in my rage. I wanted to _kill_ you but I also was crying _for_ you, I wanted to see you again so much. To see you and cry and hold you and _kill you_. The shadow was on me.

“But Leia — she held my hands in hers, the way I used to do for you, remember? And she was _breaking_ inside, I could feel it, but she did that for me, and somehow we got through it together. She helped me to hide here — it’s where my mother’s people are from, originally. We joked that I’d become a strange old wizard, like Obi-Wan on Tatooine.” I smile grimly. “And, lo, after these many years did it come to pass that I got my own hologram call for help.”

Ben shakes his head. I sit down on a cushion on the floor and peer closely at his image. He peers back at me.  I see the boy I knew. The full lower lip, the downcast dark eyes, the hair falling over his forehead.

It is hard to reconcile that boy with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren — until I think about those nights we spent putting up walls against the Dark Side, when his dreams woke him and he would call me through the Force. We would sneak to the library, and there we would kneel, facing each other, his hands in mine as we meditated on the Light.

And then I hadn’t been there for him. Without me, the shadow had spread, and Luke had felt it. And then the shadow overtook Ben Solo, who is now Kylo Ren. At this distance, I sense what he’s feeling only faintly, but he seems to know my mind more clearly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says. “It was Luke’s fault. He never saw — he couldn’t see what you saw. You were never afraid of the dark, but he was.”

I realize, with irritation, that I am crying. “Ben, you’ll never know how much I grieved for you. I would hear what you — what _Kylo Ren_ did, and the light of you, of Ben Solo who was my friend, would dim with with each story. I’ve held onto it so fiercely. It’s still here, a little sliver of light — all that I have left of who you used to be. I can feel it, like a shard of glass in my heart.”

He glowers at my tears. “You can keep it,” he says, and then is gone.

And that’s how I find myself, eight years after he destroyed my world, weeping on the floor over Ben Solo, and everything he took from me — again.

 

* * *

  
The days I don’t hear from him again have been faint, blurry. You can cocoon yourself in the Force; that’s what I did when I first came to Gaia. I was young and scared and alone, and I needed to withdraw and center myself before I could figure out who I would be in this new life.

I know who I am now. No chrysalis for me. Instead, I smoke hashish. I stay lying on the floor, peering through the bluish gray smoke up to the beams of the ceiling in my little bungalow.

Drugs were the consolation of the palace dancers, my mother used to tell me. The Hutts kept them in full supply of whatever kept the young women compliant, whatever dulled their senses or took them someplace else. My mother had been just a teenager when she escaped after Leia killed Jabba, young enough to restart her life, lucky enough to have befriended royalty, a leader of the Rebellion. It wasn’t true for many other women. Leia did what she could for those whom Jabba had enslaved, but she couldn’t save everyone.

What if I had stayed on Tatooine? What if Luke had? Or Anakin? The Force pulls people away from that planet to seed the galaxy with conflict, I swear. I’m imagining being a moisture farmer when Kylo Ren’s comlink beeps.

I realize that I’ve stopped thinking of him as Ben.

“There’s a song here that I like,” I say in greeting. “It seems appropriate. It goes ‘ _Why do you come here when you know it makes things hard for me?_ ’ My voice breaks as I sing. I have been crying for a week. I stop and raise the hookah to my lips.

“Your presence in the Force has been… _muddled_ ,” Kylo Ren says.

“So it has,” I say, still not looking at his holo image. “Should I be flattered or afraid that you’ve been monitoring me?”

I sense his presence now, too. A wall enclosing a tempest. Does he feel it, what my heart has been thumping out into the Force? The same three words, like an echo: _I loved you, I loved you, I loved you._

I wish it weren’t so. I wish I never felt it. I wish I could still feel it.

“You live in the past,” Kylo Ren says accusingly. “And yet where did the past bring you? Why worship something that has led you here?”

I fairly snarl through the smoke around me. “ _You_ led me here. I had to _run_. Are you going to kill me too? Is that why you really want me to come to you? So you can finish what you started?” My tears are pooling around my ears and dripping onto the floor under me.

“No,” he says, simply. _Honestly_ , I realize.

“Why, then?”

“I am in pain.”

“And?”

“And I need you.”

I thought that this was all I would have to hear, but my whole being rebels from it.

“No!” I say, but still I don’t look at him. “You killed all of my friends. You would have killed me too, if I had been there. I wouldn’t have gone with you. I wouldn’t be one of Snoke’s Knights of Ren, whatever _that_ means.”

“No — if you had been there —”

“Don’t!” I yell. “Don’t say that it wouldn’t have happened if I had been there. _Don’t_. It would have. I wasn’t strong enough then, and I’m still not. I am not your containment field, Ben.”

It’s so hard to break the habit of calling him that, no matter what I think of him as now.

“Will you please look at me,” he says, in his flat intonation.

I do.

Oh Twin Suns, he is beautiful. Even as this holo image, he is beautiful. _Beautiful Ben_. The scar still runs like a crack down the right side of his face, disappearing into the collar of his tunic, but his dark eyes are clearer than the last time I saw him, the brow less furrowed. For all that, I can sense his pain now, pulsing like a neutron star.

I’ve stopped crying. In the haze around me, he is sharp and solid — the Force is enhancing his image, and he looks as if he is kneeling right in front of me, facing me as he did so many times in the Temple library.

“Do you see me as clearly as I see you?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“This reminds you of something. Something you’ve lost and want back.” I pause and reach out. Ah. “I’m not _her_ , Ben,” I say.

He flinches as if I’ve struck him. “I don’t want you to be.”

He studies me. He is trying to find a way to convince me. I feel a ripple over my thoughts, like a thumb over the edges of pages in a book.

“I knew you were out there,” he says. “This whole time, I’ve known.”

He is telling the truth. I remember that Ben Solo never could lie to me. I thought it would be different for Kylo Ren. But it’s not.

“And yet,” I say.

“Yet I let you live.”

“Generous.”

“ _Your sarcasm_ —” His anger flashes, then disappears. “You know I don’t mean it that way.”

“I know.”

“I need you,” he says again.

I nod. “All right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mira is a Morrissey fan! Who would have guessed that someone who is into sad boys and dramatics would succumb in the end to a pair of pretty eyes? She thinks now!Morrissey, who makes a fool of himself by spouting off racist remarks, is trash, though.
> 
> The Smiths are actually going to play a part in this story — or at least one of their songs is.
> 
> Oh, and Mira is kind of into getting high. I respect her for this.


	3. Lead Me Into Your Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira has agreed to have Kylo Ren, who was formerly her friend Ben Solo, whisk her off to a life of luxurious authoritarianism in the First Order. First, though — negotiations. And a consummation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to earn our rating.
> 
> (I re-rated this work as Mature rather than Explicit after doing some *ahem* research. If you disagree, please do let me know in the comments.)
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “One Caress” by Depeche Mode.
> 
> (Full playlist in the end notes.)

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Early Summer, 36 ABY** _

The transport — a light civilian freighter, inconspicuous — arrives after three days. My affairs are in order, as if I am preparing for my death. My trunk is packed. I wear a long black dress, sleeveless, high-necked, that the wind pushes against my body. Bands of silver around my upper arms and wrists, disks of silver in my ears — armor.

I’m at the airfield to meet him, and my legs tremble as I stand, waiting for the door to open, hands clasped in front of me. I feel sixteen years old again, waiting outside of the sparring room when it’s my turn to face him.

It is a dry time of year here, and the grasses in the field have turned golden. Spots of violet and orange pop through — hardy wildflowers. They grow through the cracks in the asphalt of the landing platform. It is such an incongruous place with the figure that emerges from the ship. Tall and broad-shouldered, a column of black, his hair tousled by the warm wind. His eyes are cast down.

And then he lifts them and meets mine, and the sob wracks my body before I even feel it rising. _Ben_. I try miserably to hide it, as he does the softness that for a moment overtakes the carefully constructed mask of severity — there is the familiar, telltale twitch in his left eye.

Quickly, though, my sob turns into a sputtering laugh, because another figure follows him. Also tall, his light eyes squinting in the sunlight, which the brim of his hat doesn’t shield him from.

 _Hux_.

“Supreme Leader,” I say. “Look at what you’ve brought me! Armitage, at last!”

I hold out both hands to him. Sheepishly, he glances at Kylo Ren, takes off his hat and tucks it under his arm, and then takes my hands. I lean in and kiss the air next to his cheeks.

The Supreme Leader of the First Order is amused, I can feel it. But also — ah, yes, that old jealousy. His face does not betray it, however. I smile at him, tentatively. I reach out my hand and place it on his gloved one. We stand, looking at one another, seeing where the years have changed us. 

He seems taller, definitely broader — the lean wiriness of his youth replaced by intimidating strength.

I wonder what differences he sees in me. I feel no shock in him, just anxiety heightening into a kind of terror of the past, which seeing me again brings back. His hand closes on mine, briefly, and I feel his need. Not for anything in particular — not yet. Just for me.

We were twenty-one the last time we saw each other, nearly two years before he destroyed the Temple. And now we are thirty-one, eight years into lives in exile.

I played this moment in my mind so many times over the last three days, and I never knew what I would do. I still don’t.

“Do we have to leave at once, or would you like some tea?” I finally ask.

* * *

 I get Hux to try some hashish. No, not some. _A lot._ It takes very little effort. All I have to do is sit opposite him, gesturing with the hookah mouthpiece while I talk to him about nothing. He watches, evidently fascinated as I put it to my lips and draw smoke from it, and when I hand it to him, he does the same without even pausing. He coughs, then takes another drag.

The Supreme Leader stands at the window with his back to us. I can feel him simmering, not exactly with impatience. Anticipation.

With a glowing face, Hux tells me about a girl who bit him on the hand before the _Supremacy_ exploded, making very little sense.

“I could have strangled her right there,” he says, “but I have learned forbearance. Discipline. But, oh, would that have been _satisfying_.” He chuckles, and then after a little while falls dead asleep on my couch.

“The mighty General Armitage Hux,” I say, standing over him. “He’s horrible.” I tilt my head to study his sleeping face, the pale lashes on his pale cheeks. I arrange a blanket over him. “And yet…. He’s very fastidious about keeping his sideburns sharp, isn’t he?”

“ _Please_ don’t start in about Hux again.”

“All right, all right. It’s just us two, now. He’s out for the count.” I gesture to the table. “Have you eaten?” My people’s immortal words.

In my house, sitting at my table, he is Ben again. I make him tea while the coconut milk and squash stew cooks. The years dissolve when I sit down next to him, and I can smell his hair and skin, just as it used to be, even with whatever fancy First Order grooming products he has now. I even venture to press my shoulder against his, like we used to sit when we studied. It’s too easy to forget what he’s become.

“How are you?” I ask.

He looks confused by the question.

“From what I understand,” I say, “this is going to be my job, yes? Chief Counselor to the Supreme Leader?”

“Not that kind of counselor. I don’t want to talk about how I am,” he says. “You can sense it anyway.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it? Being around someone who can do that after so long. It’s disconcerting at first, and then... calming. Familiar.”

“Yeah,” he says simply. And then he takes a sip of tea.

“Now, this arrangement. Will I be allowed to leave if I want to?”

“Of course, as long as you don’t betray me.”

“Ah, yes, they’re still out there. The Resistance. General Organa. And the girl everyone says killed Snoke.”

His jaw tightens.

“You of course received the salary requirements I sent,” I continue.

“Everything you need will be provided for you.”

“Plus the salary I stipulated.”

He takes another sip of tea. “Yes.”

I put my hand around the one he has curled around the mug, still in its black glove. His spine stiffens and then relaxes again. “Will you stay here tonight?” I ask. “Can the galaxy spare the Supreme Leader until tomorrow?”

A pause. “Yes,” he says.

* * *

We shared a bed before — or nearly so — as kids. When other students had gone home for the Life Day break, my mother came to the Temple to spend the holiday. Leia and Han — and Chewbacca — were there too. Ben and I had the run of the empty halls. We’d ride on Chewie’s back, both of us at once, whooping and yelling and generally not respecting the solemnity of the sacred Jedi space. But at night the dormitories were large and empty. Ben would creep into the girls’ dormitory at night and push one of the beds against mine, and we would lie facing each other and talk until our eyes dropped closed.

He is sitting on the edge of my bed now. Evening is settling, with dim, bluish light descending over the sky. We’re insulated in here, with my thick antique rugs and velvet-covered pillows, the glass lamps glowing with low light. After living near poverty on Tatooine and then in then in the rustic simplicity of the Jedi Temple, my desire for luxury resulted in a bungalow that perhaps has too much of the bordello in its aesthetic. All warm light and plush fabric, flocked wallpaper, cushions everywhere, fringed silk scarves draped on mirrors.

We have negotiated and signed a contract and eaten a meal together, and the reality of him is starting to overtake me again, as it did at the moment when he stepped off his craft. My body shudders again. He looks at me, curiously, probing.

“You never used to be afraid of me,” he says.

“You weren’t _this_ back then.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You don’t regret anything?” I ask.

“Regretting the past is futile.”

I nod. This is something I already know, but he is making me see why I would want to not even feel regret anymore.

I kneel on the bed, facing in, and pat the space in front of me. He slips off his boots and gloves and leaves them lined up, just so, at the foot of the bed, and then kneels across from me. I hold out my hands, resting them on my knees. He takes them in his.

Those hands, so much broader than my own, the skin now bared to mine — known to me just as well as my own. I close my fingers around them and I sense a tremor in his feelings. I search his face.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “I know you want her.”

He shakes his head. “I never made her any promises.”

“You made her an offer, though,” I say. “A proposal.”

“Which she refused.”

 _Ah._ “Am I revenge, then?”

“No.”

I nod, sensing his conflict under his truth. “What is this really, Ben? Because here, in this moment, it looks like I’m going to play royal mistress while you wait for your Queen consort.”

He starts to protest, but I raise one of my hands and touch my fingers to his lips.

“It’s all right. She awakened something in you, and without an outlet for it, you are reeling. The First Order is in disarray. The galaxy is falling to chaos.”

His head bows, briefly. “Yes.”

“All right,” I say, and then I do what I wished I could do all those years ago, instead of sparring. I kiss him, and enfold him — as much as I can enfold his large frame — in my arms. I put my fingers in his hair and I open my mouth to his and I listen to his breath, and feel the thrum of my heart.

 _I loved you_ , it still says. I try not to think about why it is in past tense.

His left hand is still in my right, but the other finds its way to my waist, and he pulls me in closer to him. He is solid against me, powerful, but I also feel like if I tried, I could break him.

A realization comes to me as I feel the Force pressing in around us, and I breathe in sharply. He pulls away, searching my face, and his dark eyes, oh damn them, are so soft, the strong brows over them curved in concern.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No,” I say, “it’s just that… I’ve never done this — I mean, I’ve done _this_ , obviously — but not with another Force sensitive person. I don’t know what to expect.”

He licks his lips.

“Have you?” I ask. He’s still holding me against him. My heart is pounding wildly.

“No,” he says.

“Master Luke didn’t cover this in Jedi school. Did your mother ever —”

“ _No_. _Please_ don’t talk about them right now.”

I laugh, in spite of everything. He very nearly smiles back at me, then buries his face in my hair, in the curve of my neck, his mouth hot on my skin. There are hidden hooks holding his tunic closed, about a million of them. I manage to open the top few before he tentatively bites my neck, just under my ear, and my body spasms with pleasure. Without meaning to, I tear the rest open, and the shirt under it, too.

I feel the scar before I see it. I can track the arc of the lightsaber slash that made it, diagonally across his face, sparing his right eye, a gap at his throat, then down his neck and chest. _She_ did this to him, I think, and he feels me think it.

“It’s all right,” he says.

I place my palm against his chest, opposite of the scar, over his heart. We’ve come to a pause in what we’re doing, breathing fast, our gazes locked. I want to know more about this man whose skin is new sensation, whose eyes are the eyes of the boy I loved. Who loved me.

We never said it, but how could it have been any other way? We were children, but we were united in the Force. He took in my Light as I pulled some of the Dark from him, finding balance between us.

I want to see all of him. I tell my body, which is aching with want for him, to wait. I pull the tunic from his shoulders, the shirt over his head. I trace where the scar deepens along his chest, tug down the waist of his trousers and just above his left hip I find a gnarled scar from a blaster bolt. I hear Chewie’s anguished cry when I touch it, and I shake the rest of the scene away from me.

I trace lightly with my fingertips scars criss-crossing his arms, too, faint battle scars on his shoulders, and, even fainter, pale lines striped up his forearms. _Ah._ I turn my hands palms upward.

“I have these too,” I say. They’ve been mostly tattooed over with words.

“What do they mean?”

I point to one arm. " _There is a light that never goes out_. It’s from a song, a silly thing, but I meditate on it. It helps me — reminds me.” And to the other. “ _Noli me tangere_. It means ‘don’t touch me.’”

“Don’t touch you?” he says.

“Not you,” I say.

And I am in his arms again. He doesn’t kiss me the way I thought Ben Solo would. He kisses me as Kylo Ren, insistent, pressing me down into the bed beneath him. It’s my dress that rips now; his hands are pulling the two halves of it apart and his mouth is at my throat, sucking at my skin.

I arch my body against his, meeting the hardness he presses against me with my heat, and then my hands are at the waist of his pants, unbuckling, pushing them down, reaching for him. He traces the line of my collarbone with his lips, and I gasp when his hand finally cups my breast, moan when he takes my nipples into his mouth. The ends of his hair brush against my skin.

He has moved out of reach of my grasp, sliding his mouth between my breasts now, then down my belly. I help him as he bares me, as his tongue explores, and I gasp again and this time a bulb in one of my lamps pops with a zap of electricity.

He circles like a lion around its prey, holding me under his power, his hands pressing down my thighs as I writhe, and when I come, almost in a fury, my fingernails leave red half moons along his shoulders.

I grasp him and pull him up, wanting his body against mine, but it’s not just my strength that pulls him toward me. We aren’t alone in this.

My hand is around his cock now, but this — it feels like the start of a sparring match, like I am finding the right grip on my weapon. He moans as I imagine the hilt of a lightsaber in my hand, heavy and hard just like him. This is what it will be — combat with Kylo Ren. He is not the boy I loved anymore, not when he is Supreme Leader, and not when he is between my legs.

I guide him there, where I am hot and wet and aching, and the first thrust alone makes me cry out. Men have done this before, but it has been them alone. With Kylo Ren, the Force is inside me along with his cock.

It is shocking, almost sacrilegious, this carnality that is the Force as much as our breath and our lives are. I gasp again and bite his chest as he pushes hard against me, and then I turn us over, holding him down with my hips, pinning his arms on the bed with my hands. I have drawn blood, and I think of the dragonfruit juice I licked from my fingers. His eyes are fierce and fiery, his jaw clenched. I rock against him.

“ _It surrounds us_ ,” I recite.

" _It penetrates us_ ,” he answers.

And then the world explodes around us. I am blinded by it, the pleasure, the oneness — for an eternal moment we are a single being in the Force, and his cries are my cries, and when he is spent inside me, I am full of the Force, and I my cunt is the Force throbbing around his cock. Our hands are locked together and we return to each other’s eyes at the same moment. I am not sure how long we were there, in the Force. We shudder against each other, our bodies surrendered to something we don’t entirely understand.

“Ben,” I say.

“Mira.”

His eyes are suddenly soft again and I am weeping, burying my face into his neck, hating him for being the boy I loved and the man who destroyed everything I had left, hating myself for being that lost girl again and for being the woman who would betray her so thoroughly.

And yet. And yet.

Here he is, mine. For now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! These kids don’t waste time!
> 
> Who among us did not snicker when Obi-Wan described the Force? Admit it! Do you think there’s a recording somewhere of Ewan McGregor saying “It surrounds us. It penetrates us”? I hope so.
> 
> On a more wholesome note, I had fun imagining little Ben playing with Chewbacca. God, I love Chewie. Best Space Dad. More than a little inspiration for that scene came from [this heartbreaking comic](https://imgur.com/gallery/u7HcWOx) by Tyson Murphy.
> 
> I’ve put some clues about the Earth culture I based Mira’s mother’s native culture on — the dance with the candles, the question “Have you eaten?”, the coconut milk and squash stew, the Noli Me Tangere tattoo, even using teasing as a way to express affection. Have you figured out what it is?
> 
> Also, Stoned Hux is Best Hux.


	4. You Are Your Mother's Only Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be straightforward: Mira and Kylo Ren have spent all night screwing. They’re taking to the sky to travel to the Finalizer today. But first… breakfast.
> 
> Oh, and Hux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and the bookmarks. I’m having so much fun writing this, and it’s heartening to know other people enjoy it.
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “You've Got Everything Now” by The Smiths.
> 
> (Full playlist in the end notes.)

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia and the First Order Freighter, Early Summer, 36 ABY** _

He is awake before I am, dressed already and sitting at the edge of my bed once again. I sit up, naked except for my silver bracelets.

“I’ll replace your dress,” he says.

“Oh well,” I say, looking at the two pieces of black silk that lay twisted on the floor. A casualty. I have a feeling there will be more. “I have other dresses.”

I get up and pass into the bathroom connected to my room and start running water. It looks like he’s already showered. There is a towel, neatly folded, hanging over the edge of the tub.

“How long have you been awake?” I ask, noticing that his hair is still damp.

“An hour or so.” He’s in his Kylo Ren of the holo calls posture, elbows on knees, chin in hand.

I note the soreness between my legs as I sink into the warm water. We woke in the night and that time fucked slowly, with my legs wrapped around his hips and our mouths at each other’s ears, hissing accusations.

“You abandoned me when I needed you,” he said.

“You made me give too much of myself,” I said.

“You could have made them understand. But you wanted to keep me to yourself.”

“You killed all of my friends.”

“You became a whore on a nothing planet,” he sneered. “A whore just like your mother.”

“You were Snoke’s whore,” I snarled back. “You murdered your father.”

My fingers were in his hair. My thumb caressed his cheek. He kissed me as if to consume my breath.

“I loved you,” I said.

“I loved you too.”

And then my hands were at his throat, pressing lightly against his windpipe. _I could kill you_ , I thought. He felt the thought, said nothing in reply but instead grasped my hair in his fist and pulled until my neck arched backward and I could feel my pulse in my throat and his eyes on me, like those of a night-sighted predator.

I felt the Dark Side in that coupling. I have felt it all too often over the years. There was less light than dark in me to begin with, and I had given what I could to Ben Solo. That is why I contemplate the flames and smoke all the drugs, and that is why I can still do this. Why I can fuck the man who killed my friends, why I can tease him about that madman who is  —

“Shit!” I say, starting back into the present.

“What?”

“Hux! He’s still out there!”

* * *

As it happened, Hux woke ravenous and ransacked my kitchen, making a mess of it as only someone who has never been in a kitchen before can. He sits at the table, eating a bowl of cold cereal, when I come out of my room in my dressing gown— more black silk, embroidered with red and white dragons. I see him eye it — or is it me?— assessingly as he sets the spoon down and stands, nodding once in a sharp greeting.

“Good morning, Armitage,” I say, gesturing for him to sit.

“I would have prepared something for you,” Hux says. “But as you can see….”

“There’s not much to eat here anyway, since I knew I was leaving.”

“Yes, of course.” Hux eyes Ben walking in after me now, his light eyes zeroing in on the Supreme Leader’s unfastened tunic, where I pulled the hooks out. He takes another bite of the cereal.

I pour myself a bowl and sit down to eat. Sighing, Ben does the same.

And that is how we are resigned to be part of each other’s lives — a General of the First Order, the Supreme Leader, and a former Jedi, sitting at a kitchen table, the only sound between us the crunching as we chew.

“Did you sleep well, Armitage?” I finally say.

“Like the dead,” he says. “Better than I have in a long time.”

“Should I bring the hashish, then?” I say. “If you have trouble sleeping, there’s nothing better. I’ll give you some.  A gift for a new… co-worker.”

“Thank you, Miranda.” Hux smiles, and it’s a frightening thing.

* * *

I find another long black dress in my trunk — I have a lot of them — and put it on and ready myself to leave while Ben watches me, following my movements with his eyes. He is as still as a stone, his breathing under perfect control. The Jedi training never really leaves you; if you need to detach, the layers of your individuality just fall away and you’re left as just a spot of life within in the whole of the Force.

He comes back to himself when I stand in front of him and say, “I’m ready.”

Without a word, he puts his arms around my waist and draws me to him, burying his face in my belly. He is not going to apologize, ever, for all the atrocities I spit at him while he was inside me last. I accept this as the closest thing to it.

He shudders, and I realize he is weeping, as I wept when I saw him step off his craft, as I wept when I lay next to him last night.

This is never going to be simple, between us.

“Are you sure of this?” I ask. “You can go back without me.”

“I know that’s not what you want.”

“Who cares what I want? You’re the Supreme Leader.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I don’t know what to call you. I can’t call you Kylo Ren.”

He doesn’t answer.

“It hurts you when I call you Ben because that’s what _she_ calls you,” I say. “And… this — it should have been her you felt that with.”

“No.” He growls the word. “She doesn’t want me.”

“And I do,” I say.

“Do you?”

“Yes. You know I’m not lying.”

“I do.”

* * *

Hux insists on searching my trunk, and I don’t protest, though I see that Ben is impatient. He shakes out black dress after black dress, paws through my lingerie, sniffs at my cosmetics and toiletries, and makes a little grin when he finds my jewelry box.

“I know these tricks,” he says, carefully looking over a moonstone ring for hidden buttons or hinges. “I’ve heard all of the stories about poison secreted in jewelry.”

But in my collection he finds nothing.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Armitage,” I say from the sofa where I’m lounging as I watch him. “I don’t know anything about poison. But you might try the black lacquer case.”

He finds it at the bottom of the trunk, wrapped in a homespun tunic with a border of embroidered poppies. Ben’s eyes flash with recognition when he sees it. A garment from my last days as a padawan. He saw me wearing it many times.

But Hux casts it aside as he uncovers the case. It is lustrous black, edged with mother of pearl, the top hand-painted with a scene of a mountain and sailboats on a lake beneath it. The case is not locked. When he opens it, he recoils as if there were a snake inside on the blue velvet lining.

“What’s wrong?” I say. “It can’t hurt you. Not without it being in my hand, anyway.”

He looks at my lightsaber, sleek and shiny in the case, titanium banded with polished black stone, and then back at me with trepidation.

“ I could call it to me and cut you down in an instant. And do you think the Supreme Leader would stop me?” I glance at Ben, whose expression hasn’t changed, but I can sense the inward smirk.

I stand, and Hux flinches. With a wave, I close the case.

“But why would I do that? We’re friends, aren’t we, Armitage?” I take the case from him.

He stands now, straightening the tunic of his uniform. “Of course, Miranda,” he says. “Well, I’m done here. I’ll just put everything back—” He stoops to pick up some flimsy garment.

“Never mind that,” I say. “You can leave me to do it.”

Understanding, he hands me the the scrap of silk, gives me one of his curt nods, and strides out of the room.

“Poor Hux,” I say as the door closes. “He’s just smart enough to know the danger he’s in. I’m surprised he’s survived this long.”

“He has his uses,” Ben says.

“I suppose you want this,” I say, holding out my lightsaber case with both hands. “For safekeeping.”

Wordlessly, Ben takes it from me. He opens the case, studies the saber handle inside for a moment, his face growing hard as he fights against the past. I can feel the greenish gold kyber crystal humming in recognition of his presence. Ben was there while I was making it, encouraging me when the task seemed like one I’d never master.

He closes the case. “Yes, thank you. I’ll keep it for you.”

We speak around the truth a lot for people who can feel each other’s thoughts. I pick up my old tunic and smooth it out, then fold it into a neat rectangle. I run my finger over the flowers on the border. My mother embroidered it, a motif from this place, her home planet, where these orange poppies grow in abundance all over the hills and along the sides of roads and highways.

He turns away from me. “I’ll send the porter droid to come get your trunk.”

And then he leaves the room, too.

I pick up my smaller case that holds what I’ll need for the journey. And then I say goodbye to my little bungalow, with its garden of overgrown herbs and its creaky wood floors and cracked kitchen tiles. It’s not forever — I’m paying an old woman and her granddaughter to take care of it in my absence. I told them I didn’t know how long I’ll be away.

* * *

The interior of the unremarkable and slightly battered light freighter is unsurprisingly sleek, cold, and sterilely luxurious. And I’m sure it’s loaded with more weapons and defense capability than its appearance lets on. The First Order controls the galaxy’s credits now, and there’s nothing they can’t have.

It will take two standard days to get to the Core, where the First Order’s flagship the _Finalizer_ is, just above Coruscant right now.

Ben tells me this as he shows me to my quarters, which is little more than the width of the narrow bed. I sit down and he watches me as I take off my boots and put them inside the drawer of the platform the bed sits on. In my traveling case, I find a pair of black velvet slippers, with beaded dragons on the toes and put them on.

I follow him back out to the lounge area behind the cockpit. Everything is shiny black, except the red upholstery of the sofas that ring it. Hux is already sitting here, reading something on a datapad, two lines cut between his brows. As is his custom, he rises when I enter and nods. I sit down a little ways from him, ignoring Ben’s sigh.

“No rest for General Hux, I take it?” I say.

“With our decisive victory, there is much work to be done” he says, his propaganda voice creeping in as naturally as breathing, “The Supreme Leader has probably told you how we must keep tight control to ensure the transition goes smoothly,” he adds with a significant look at Ben, who is now pacing around the outside of the sofa.

“I suppose I’ll be briefed on information I need once we reach the _Finalizer_ ,” I say. “In my capacity as Chief Counselor to the Supreme Leader,” I add when Hux gives me a querying look.

“Miranda, I hardly think —” Hux stops and swallows with difficulty as, in the corner of my eye, I see Ben’s hand make a quick grabbing and twisting motion.

“Of course,” the Supreme Leader says, not looking at Hux but at me. “I will do it personally.”

He releases Hux, who rubs his throat and gives me another one of his nods. One corner of his mouth twitches up when he thinks I’m not watching, though. Perhaps it was a mistake to have let them stay at my bungalow, to let Hux be so near when Ben and I consummated our agreement. He’s mistaking me as nothing more than the Supreme Leader’s mistress, my title a mere formality.

I turn in my seat to watch Ben as he continues his circumnavigation of the sofa. His hands are clasped behind his back and his eyes are fixed on the toes of his boots as he walks.

“Supreme Leader,” I say.

He stops.

“I haven’t been off-planet in a decade. Is there an observation window? I know one hyperspace lane is like another, visually, but I still would like to see it.”

He nods. “There’s one in my quarters.”

I see Hux’s eyebrow raise over his datapad.

“You’ll excuse us, Armitage?” I place my hand on Hux’s shoulder, for the briefest moment, as I rise. “Please, don’t get up.”

“Of course.”

I follow Ben down the short corridor. He waves the last door, the one just after mine, open. Inside it is identical to my — and I suspect Hux’s too — quarters, except for the large viewing window on the wall opposite the bed. Ben gestures for me to sit, and then sits down next to me when I do.

We are old friends again, suddenly. I lean my head on his shoulder and we watch the stream of light outside the window for a moment, just breathing. Ben takes off his gloves, smooths them, and sets them on the bed next him. We both have these fastidious, Jedi-trained habits, though they never came naturally to either of us. He places his hand, palm up on my knee. I take it with my own.

“You’re calm,” I say.

“Yes.”

“But not content.”

“There is still so much to do.”

“But what can you do about it right now?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“So do nothing. Put it out of mind.”

He makes a small sound, a _hm_ , almost a chuckle.

“We are what we ever have been, Ben,” I say. “Even if we’ve changed, what we are, we are. It might as well be the night before an exam, after we’ve studied as much as we can study.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to admit those days are on his mind, too.

 _How foolish_ , I think. _To bring me back into his life and expect not to bring the past along with me._

Maybe he is testing himself. But I stop dwelling on it. I tuck my feet under me on the bed and lean into him more. _We used to watch the stars_ , I think, leaving my mind completely open to him.

No words answer me, just an image, of his hand and mine, resting next to each other in the grass. We are fourteen in this memory, gangly limbs and spotty faces, out of breath because we’ve been running. This night, after he called to me and we met in the library, we slipped from the temple entirely. With silent agreement, we took off like wild animals, bounding over the field  and then flopping down into the cold grass and lying there, watching the stars above us.

“Mira,” he finally says.

“Yes?”

“I was going to wait until we get back to the _Finalizer_ , but since we’re here... I am going to ask you to do something for me.”

I know he is being deadly serious, so I push aside my mirthful reply. “What?”

“I think Hux is going to try to have me killed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUN! Come on, though — it would be more of a surprise if Hux WEREN’T plotting to kill Kylo Ren.
> 
> I wish I could draw well; I would love for the image of these three eating Fruit Loops at the kitchen table together that I have in my head to be out in the world.
> 
> So here we see that Hux is afraid of lightsabers and our boy Kylo ain’t letting no man disrespect his lady. And there are still two more days of this journey for these three to survive!
> 
> Next chapter: There Will Be Blood


	5. She Punched Me Like a Dude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira tries to get closer to Hux. Here be dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, bookmarks, and comments! They really encourage me. I have about 21 chapters of the fic written already, so I'll be posting updates regularly. (I don't want to outpace myself.)
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore” by David Bowie.
> 
> (Full playlist in the end notes.)
> 
> If you're interested in my other writing, there are links on my [website](http://jenniferdeguzman.com/prose/). (I also write [comics](http://jenniferdeguzman.com/comics-portfolio)!)

_**The First Order Freighter, Hyperspace, Standard Month 6, 36 ABY** _

I sit up straight and look at him. “Hux?” I say stupidly.

“Yes, Armitage Hux. He’s planning something, and there must be others who are plotting with him. I’m sure you can make him reveal something to you.”

“You can just take it from him,” I protest. “The plan, the conspirators, everything. Even _I_ could do that, Ben.”

“Hux is more cunning than he seems. I know he has put something into motion, but he doesn’t know anything else — any details. I can sense his planning, but nothing about the plans themselves.

“Besides,” he continues. “I don’t want him to know I suspect. It could make things… _messy._ So no thought mining. You’ll have to use other methods.”

My stomach sinks as I comprehend what he means. “You want me to…” I can’t finish the sentence.

“Whatever it takes,” he says, “to find out what he is doing.”

I untuck my feet and stand, turning to face him. The light from the hyperspace stream plays across his features and casts dark shadows beneath his brow, alongside his nose, under that full lower lip. He looks up at me, his eyes defiant.

“You really do think I’m a whore,” I spit at him.

“No more than you think I was one,” he says, softly.

“Why?” I say. “Why would you use me the way Snoke used you? He expected you to kill for him. And you expect me to—”

“I am _asking_ you,” he says. “If you say no, I won’t send you away. I won’t punish you.”

“Oh,” I say. “Oh, _merciful master_.” My hand raises almost as if on its own — or as if the Force wills it — to strike him across the face. But he grabs my wrist before I can and pulls me down so our faces are level.

“I do not _want_ this,” he says. “I would not ask this of you if I could uncover this myself. Besides —”

I bite him.

I bite his mouth before he can say another word, holding his bottom lip between my teeth. I wait until I taste his blood to release him. He raises his other hand to his mouth, wiping the blood away, leaving his mouth a red smear. This time his smirk is more than an idea of one.

We face each other down. I know my eyes are looking at him as hungrily as his are at me, but I make myself back away from him, defying my body, which is telling me push it against his, telling me how much it needs the breadth of his shoulders and chest, the hardness of his stomach, the….

 _No_. I breathe in deeply and activate the door. It slides open, and then I back out of the room, eyes locked on him until it slides closed again between us.

I close my eyes, count, breathe, and then turn to return to my quarters. But standing at the entrance to the corridor — _Hux_. I force myself to adjust my expression to that of someone who has been merely looking at the hyperspace stream in the company of an old friend. This is it, then.

“Armitage,” I say, “you startled me! What are you doing lurking out here?”

“Pardon me, Miranda,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you again today.”

There’s an archness to his tone that I do not like. Let him think whatever he wants, but I must make it clear he may _not_ allude to those thoughts when speaking to me. Or anyone. His eyes are on my mouth.

“Are you… bleeding?” he asks.

I dab my fingertips to my lips, and they come away scarlet.

“It’s not my blood,” I say.

Hux’s whole body stiffens, his nostrils flaring, his eyes widening. He edges away from me.

“Ren?” he calls, his voice shaky. And then, more surely, “Supreme Leader?”

Ben’s door slides open and he stands behind it, perfectly composed. He’s wiped the blood off, but his bottom lip is cherry-red and beginning to swell. “What is it, Hux?” he says with annoyance.

Hux adjusts his posture to match Ben’s. “Ah… We’re on course to rendezvous with the _Finalizer_ in 45 standard hours,” he says.

“Very well,” Ben says. “Please do not disturb me again.”

And the door slides shut.

I exchange a look with Hux.

“He’s always been like that,” I whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. “You should have seen what happened the time I beat him at sparring.”

Hux smiles, the tension leaving him.

“I’d kill for a cup of tea,” I say. “Should I make some for both of us?”

“Make some?” Hux seems unfamiliar with the concept. “No, no — we have the porter droid to do that. Please, relax. And I have put aside my work for now, so I can be a proper host.”

I smile, tilt my head, and I hold out my hand in expectation. True to his Imperial-engrained manners, he holds out his arm for me to take, even though we can barely walk abreast in the narrow corridor, and leads me to the lounge area. If I feel any hesitation, I push it down. I pat Hux’s arm.

“We Force users like to use the word ‘knight,’ but the Supreme Leader never took any lessons in chivalry. I always thought that the Empire, evil though it was — no, don’t worry, I’m allowed to say that — had much better manners and fashion. You are a true gentleman of the Empire, Armitage.”

His face pinks to the tips of his ears and up to his hairline. I remember why I said I like ginger men — they never can hide much from you.

I settle on the sofa, closer to Hux than earlier, and we are all politeness as he asks me how I take my tea and places the order for it. The porter droid, a tall, slender black cylinder, glides noiselessly to us on the black tile floor. From its body, it can produce an array of accessories. It’s a versatile piece of equipment, but, as far as I can tell, it’s utterly devoid of personality. It carries in two cups of tea on a tray. Mine with milk, Hux’s well-sugared.

As we sip our tea, I give Hux little glimpses of my past to try to soften the image of me as a blood-sucking vampire that my appearance in the corridor probably conjured up. I tell him about learning to dance from my mother, and about the first time I left Tatooine — to go to Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Temple on Chandrila.

“The grass, the forests, the cool air, the _water_ — everything was miraculous,” I say. “Ben and I used to —” but then I cut myself off, in a calculated way.

I must let him know that I’m holding things back, things he’s curious about — he’ll want to be closer to me to find them out. My use of the name _Ben_ too, was tactical, the first time I’ve used it in Hux’s presence. _I know him_ , the name says. _He trusts me_ . I must make Hux question whether the Supreme Leader _should_ trust me, and then convince him that no, the Supreme Leader should not.

The porter droid has brought us a few drinks of something stronger than tea when I stretch out, resting my slippered feet on a cushion near him. He touches the beaded dragon on one slipper hesitantly.

“What are these creatures?” he asks. “They were on your dressing gown as well.”

So I tell him about their fire-breathing, their gold-hoarding, their flying, their wisdom that is unaligned with either good or evil.

“And they live on Gaia?” Hux says excitedly.

I make myself restrain a laugh. _Poor Hux._ His tall frame and carefully cultivated psychopathy hide an eager little boy who, just learning of dragons, wants to see one.

“Alas, they’re legendary,” I say. “I’ve wished they were real, so I could meet one. Do you ever have idle fantasies about how somehow _you_ are special and a person — or creature — of great stature will take notice of you? I used to daydream like that about dragons. One would swoop down, and see that I am worthy and let me climb on its back. So I keep their images around me.

“But it never was a daydream for you, was it?” I add. “After all, you’re a general of the First Order, groomed for it because of your talents.”

He puffs himself up a little. “Well… yes. But what about you? A child trained by Luke Skywalker? A Jedi who survived the Jedi Killer?”

I shake my head. “I’m not a Jedi. No more than the Supreme Leader.”

“What _are_ you, then?”

I stretch even more, raising my arms above my head and then sinking back into the sofa. “I am my own creature.”

I am not imagining the shudder that runs through Hux’s body. His fingers, still on the toes of my slipper, are contemplating moving higher, touching the bare skin of my ankle.

Before they can, I sit up and curl my legs around me, yawning.

“Oh, how rude of me,” I say. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m suddenly _exhausted._ I’m going to lie down in my quarters for a bit.”

I stand, he stands and nods, and I tap him lightly on his arm before taking my leave. This all reminds me of something. Yes — I’m thinking of how we practiced our footwork at the Temple, advancing with purpose, withdrawing without giving ground.

As I get to the corridor, I turn and smile. “I’m _so glad_ we’re getting to know each other, Armitage,” I say. And then I disappear into my quarters.

I wasn’t lying. I am tired. I stretch out on the narrow bed, and I feel the presence in the quarters next to mine.

_Ben._

I sense him move, feel him sit on his own bed, just on the other side of the wall. He lies down. Both of us on our backs, heads tilted toward each other, the way we used to stargaze as children.

I still hate him. With the embers of a fury that once burned like the flames in the vision I had of the Temple’s destruction. There is no use hiding it from him.

He hates Hux, though with an indifference close to tolerance. Kylo Ren has learned to _sit_ with his hate, to let it be a part of him. But the hate I’m sensing from him now is different. He’s sending me to that lion’s den, even knowing what Hux is, even as he hates Hux, he hates me for agreeing to do it, and hates himself for asking it of me.

I get some kind of satisfaction from that.

I close my eyes, open my mind, and begin my mantra, as much for Ben’s sake as my own:

 _There is a light._ Breathe. _And it never goes out._

* * *

We spend the rest of the trip back to the _Finalizer_ at an arm’s distance. After the immediate, explosive connection at my bungalow, we have become wary. It’s almost as if it was _too_ much. Our bodies want us to draw together, still. I feel it as a kind of electricity between us when we are standing near each other, feel it in the flutter of my stomach and the ache between my legs at his slightest glance — and those glances tell me he is feeling it too.

His distance is not just the fear of being so close. I sense his longing for the girl, and I try not to be jealous. I know that I’m not the one who will truly bring balance to Ben Solo. I tried, and I failed. And like I said, I have too much of the dark in me, too.

But the Force has plans for us, I sense. Until that becomes clearer, we merely lie on opposite sides of the wall between our quarters, feeling the others’ presence and finding an uneasy peace in it.

If Hux has noticed, he has not given any indication. His arrogance has made it easy for me to convince him that I find him charming and fascinating. We sit in the lounge and talk for much of the journey.

Hux tells me how he would like to return to Arkanis, where he was born, someday. Otherwise, he avoids the subject of his parents. So we talk about music, which he appreciates mathematically, without any sense of art; he tells me stories about training stormtroopers that turn my stomach but that I listen to with an expression of interest carefully arranged on my face.

My mind drifts to my own training days, and I focus on Ben’s presence. He’s in the cockpit, transmitting some kind of essential First Order directives. But his mind is on me. We meet there, in the Force, as if looking at each other across a room. A tremor runs through his body — and mine. And the thought we share is _I want you._

We’ll be on the _Finalizer_ in a few long hours. Thinking of it, a smile quite inappropriate for the conversation I’m having with Hux spreads across my face. By the time I come back from my encounter with Ben, it’s too late. Hux, without me noticing, has been tracing the dragons on my slippers again. And as I look up, his finger trembles as he places it, ever so lightly, on my bare ankle.

There is no diplomatic way to withdraw from his touch. We lock eyes, his light green irises glinting like metal around the black holes of his pupils.

The cockpit door opens abruptly and Hux moves his hand away, with a nervous glance at Ben. He then gives me a tiny smirk as if we share a secret.

“Is everything as it should be with the First Order, Supreme Leader?” I say.

“No,” Ben says. “But that has been established already. I’ll be in my quarters.”

“May I?” I ask, standing. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

He nods, and I silently excuse myself from Hux. I feel him watching me as I follow Ben down the corridor.

He is on me the instant the door closes. His chest presses into mine, his hips pushing me into the wall; his teeth are on my lips. I open them to him, and for a time we are lost in this kiss as our bodies intertwine. When I finally pull away slightly and gaze at his face, his eyes are intent on me, his lip still swollen, parted slightly as his breath comes fast and eager.

“I forgot what I was going to ask you,” I say.

He groans and nuzzles at my neck, saying nothing. His hands are on my hips, pulling me toward him. As he begins to pull up my skirt, I put my hands on his chest.

“Not here. Not with _him_ out there.”

“I don’t care.” His voice is a growl.

“I do. Believe me, Ben, my body is telling me to do all kinds of desperate things to you right now. But… I don’t think I could stand it.”

He bites my neck and my body involuntarily writhes against him. He is learning what I like.

“All right,” he says, panting as he backs away from me.

He stalks the short length of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. After a few paces back and forth he sits down on the bed and begins to unfasten his tunic.

“Will you sit with me?” he asks.

I laugh. My body wants nothing more than to be near him. I sit wordlessly, with our shoulders touching once again.

He unclasps his belt, takes off his tunic and lays it out next to him, then starts in on his gloves, tugging on each finger before sliding them off. Still looking at his hands, he says, “The way his _thoughts_ rove all over you, Mira, I could kill him.”

“That would solve both of our problems, wouldn’t it?” There is the smallest part of me that is serious.

He shakes his head. “Whatever he’s put into motion will still go forward without him. We have to know what it is.”

“You,” I say, “are going to owe me a multitude of favors.”

“I thought you like Hux.”

I actually say, “Ha!” and put my hand to my mouth. “Oh, Ben. No.” And then I realize. “Ben Naberrie Skywalker Organa Solo, was that a _joke_?”

He smiles, the closest I’ve seen to a real smile since we were kids. He turns to me and puts just the tips of his fingers on my cheek. And all too soon, the touch is broken and he and turns back to the hyperstream outside the window.

“It’s all right to remember,” I say.

He shakes his head and is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an [illustration](http://jenniferdeguzman.tumblr.com/post/173083105351/kittrose-happy-star-wars-day-have-some) of Kylo Ren by @kittrose on Tumblr that I found after I wrote this chapter but is perfect.
> 
> I might as well be honest with you, since you’ve come this far with me: These two are going to fight a lot. A LOT. Fightin’ and fuckin’ is pretty much gonna be their S.O.P. Hope that’s OK!
> 
> I took some liberty with Hux not knowing what dragons are -- Leia uses the metaphor "cut off the head of the dragon," so they must exist in the SW universe. But Hux grew up in the Unknown Regions with a maniacal military father, so who knows, he probably didn't get the same kind of bedtime stories other kids do.
> 
> Next chapter: Arrival at the _Finalizer_ and wardrobe matters.


	6. Stiff As Toys and Tall As Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s freshman orientation for Mira aboard the Finalizer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mira planning her outfit for arriving at the Finalizer is based on something my friends and I who work in the comics industry often discuss — the dreaded Packing for a Con. You have to have the right outfits. You have to put on your armor.
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “The Empty World” by The Cure
> 
> (See endnotes for the link to the full playlist, which is always expanding.)
> 
> This is a bit of a filler chapter to get future events into place, so I may post chapter 7 a bit earlier than Monday.

**_The First Order Freighter, Hyperspace_ **

**The Finalizer _, Above Coruscant_**  

_**Standard Month 6,** **36 ABY**_

I fall asleep at some point and wake up with my head on his lap. He is awake.

“We’ll be at the _Finalizer_ soon,” he says.

I sit up quickly and the room wobbles for a second. “I have to get ready!”

Before he can answer, I’ve left his quarters and am in my own. I planned what I would wear for our arrival at the _Finalizer_ carefully. I don’t want to confront a ship full of First Order officers and Stormtroopers without putting up my defenses. Severe black trousers, a tight-fitting tunic, cut square and low in front. My silver bracelets and earrings, and a necklace too this time — a triangle of silver that covers my chest from clavicles to sternum. I paint my lips the color of blood, draw sharp black points at the corners of my eyes, and pull my hair back tightly into a chignon. I am strapping on stiletto-heeled boots when the craft abruptly drops out of lightspeed.

Hux is outside my quarters when I emerge, his uniform in perfect order, his hat tucked under his arm. He swallows hard when he sees me, and nods with a slight smile.

“You’ll walk out with me,” he says. “The Supreme Leader goes first. Alone.”

“Wait,” I say, and then trot to the cockpit.

Ben is already there. And through the window I see it, vaster than any ship I’ve even imagined, stretching out before us, gray and stealthy and dangerous, sharp as a spearhead. The _Finalizer_. I suck in my breath and momentarily cannot remember to let it out and breathe in again.

“Ohhhh fuck,” I finally say, as the craft approaches the huge landing bay.

Ben stands, straightening his tunic, pushing his shoulders back to rise to his full height. _So this is how the Supreme Leader prepares to appear before his subjects._

He turns as he’s leaving the cockpit. “Walk with me,” he says.

“But Hux said —”

“To use your vernacular,” he says, “fuck Hux.”

Poor fucked Hux watches in astonishment as we move to stand side-by-side in front of the craft’s door. But at the last moment, I lean towards Ben and whisper, “You should go out alone. You’re the Supreme Leader. This isn’t my place.”

For a moment, he looks almost hurt. He pushes his lower lip out slightly, but then he nods and steps forward. He holds his gloved hands behind his back, arms perfectly turned out at the elbows.

Hux is by my side in a moment. “You see, I was right,” he stage whispers. “The Supreme Leader stands alone.”

“Well, it’s fortunate for me that I have you to guide me,” I say. In a moment of rashness, I say what I’m feeling. “I’m fucking terrified.”

With a puff of decompressing air, the door rises. _Breathe,_ I think. _There is a light, and it never goes out._

“Walk as I do,” Hux says as the Supreme Leader steps onto the craft’s ramp.

I do, but I am not prepared. Not for the rows of officers in impeccable black uniforms flanking the exit, not for the stormtroopers who have stopped their work to stand at attention for the Supreme Leader. Not for the vast hangar, slick and clean and horrifyingly ordered. There is nothing out of place.

Except for me. But I must not let that show. I muster up all the Jedi dignity I have left, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders as I walk next to Hux. My heels clang on the perfectly polished floor.

Kylo Ren passes by the officers without a word, without even a glance. Hux gives them a terse nod, and I find that my manners have gone on auto-pilot and I am _smiling_ slightly at them as I nod, blast it. Twelve sets of eyes watch me curiously. I sense their heads turning toward each other, questioning, as I walk away, and then the slight tilts of stormtrooper helmets as they try to turn to see me without being noticed.

One question unites them: _Who is she?_

I am beginning to wonder myself.

Ahead of me, still striding without pausing, Kylo Ren points two fingers at a young officer and then with a quick wrist flick, beckons her to walk with him. He speaks to her quickly, indicating me with a tip of his head. She nods, her gray eyes wide. She is afraid. Of him. Of Hux. Of me.

She waits while Kylo Ren sweeps by her, salutes Hux, and then falls into step with me. “Counselor Galan—” I realize with a start that that is me — “may I introduce myself? I am Lieutenant Petra Sloane. The Supreme Leader has assigned me to be your personal aide. I’ll show you to your quarters and acquaint you with the routine of the _Finalizer_.”

“Thank you, Lt. Sloane,” I say. I turn to Hux. “It looks like you’re relieved of duty for now, Armitage,” I say.

“It has been an honor and a pleasure.” His voice is unctuous but he is sincere. “I will leave you to it. I hope to see you again soon, Miranda.”

He makes an abrupt parade march turn and strides away. I have my eyes on Ben in front of me, but his dark silhouette is being consumed by the black and gray uniforms that are moving with perfect efficiency through the space, almost as if choreographed.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant,” I say, smiling voluntarily this time. I hate to think of her fearing me, thinking I am like Hux. Or like Kylo Ren.

Despite what she is feeling, Sloane moves at a confident clip toward a turbo lift. She steps aside to let me in first when the doors open. When they close, I let out my breath and lean against the wall, resting my cheek on the cool metal for a moment. Sloane pretends not to notice.

“Your quarters are on the same level as the Supreme Leader’s, ma’am.” There is a tremor in her voice. “He asked me to take you there and ask that you remain inside until he comes to see you.”

“Did he now?” I say. I can’t help but bite my lip, imagining what he has planned.

“Yes, he did.” She looks at me with perfect seriousness.

I follow her down a long corridor. This level is eerily empty. Sloane stops at a door, produces a metal code cylinder from her pocket, and inserts it into the lock. Once again, she lets me enter first.

The room is huge. Its plush carpets are scarlet and it is furnished with little groupings of club chairs and chaise longues, as if for a cocktail party. In a recess of a far wall are two plush wing chairs, a cozier place to sit. Maybe to read. I imagine drinking tea with my a book propped on my knee. The walls have been covered over with damask fabric, black on red. There are velvet cushions arranged next to a huge viewing window, perfect for stargazing.

“The bedroom is through there, ma’am,” she says, pointing to double doors.

I sit down on the foot of a chaise and take off my boots before crossing the room to the doors. I fling them open and find, just as I imagined, a huge bed with a thick red velvet duvet, black silk scarves arranged artfully over the foot. A cushioned stool, a vanity table with a gilt scrolled mirror. Even glass lanterns, in purple and red and gold. Without thinking, I clap my hands together and laugh.

 _He did this for me_. _Just hours ago there were probably workers swarming this space to make it like this. He did this for_ me .

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I say to Sloane, letting myself sink onto the bed.

“Yes, Counselor,” she says. I study her for the first time. She has dark hair, pulled back in a chignon even more severe than my own. Her skin is lovely and dark brown. She is young, in her early twenties at most.

“Please, my name is Miranda Galan,” I say.

“Yes, Ms. Galan,” she says.

I punch my hands down into the thick duvet. “ _Mira_.”

She smiles, finally. “Miranda?”

“All right, that’ll do,” I say. “Come on, let’s try out those big cushy chairs in the other room, and you can give me all the information the Supreme Leader wanted you to give me, Lieutenant.”

“Petra,” she says. “Fair is fair.”

* * *

I learn my residence on the _Finalizer_ is not the gilt cage I had feared. I can take my meals in my room or in the dining hall or in the Supreme Leader’s private quarters if I am invited. There are recreational facilities on this level that I may use in my free time — a sparring gym, training room, a media theater, a pool.

“A pool?” I sputter.

“Yes, ma’am — Miranda. General Hux is quite fond of swimming, though he does so in the pool on the High Command officers’ level.”

I file this away for future use.

When he needs me, I will be working with the Supreme Leader in his office, which overlooks the hangar. Every morning a data pad with essential information will be delivered to my office, which I’ll be shown later. The portable control panel will open and lock doors, and communicate with the kitchens and porter services. Petra hands me three code cylinders, one of which is the cylinder she used to open my door.

“Clip these on your clothes so that they’re visible whenever you’re out of your quarters. This one is for your office and datapads. This one is for the officers’ level. This one is for all of the facilities on this level — except for the Supreme Leader’s quarters and the Throne Room.”

“ _THRONE ROOM?_ ” It is out of my mouth before I can control the tone or volume. “I guess it makes sense — he _is_ technically a prince of Alderaan, for all that Alderaan doesn’t exist anymore.” I am rambling.

She looks at me again with the same perfect seriousness and with a hint of dismay. This — all that is signified by vast starships, Supreme Leaders, and throne rooms — is all utterly normal to her, and alluding to the Supreme Leader’s former identity is taboo.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not a First Order officer. All this is new to me and I can be very indelicate when I’m nervous.”

“Are you nervous, ma’am?” she asks.

“Extremely,” I say. “But that’s not your fault. You’re making me feel a lot better. Have you been on the _Finalizer_ long?”

“I was assigned here three years ago, ma’am. After… after Starkiller Base.”

“Ah,” I say, uselessly. So she knows what it is to have the people you see every day destroyed as well.

She stands. “The Supreme Leader said I must let you rest and tell you that someone from wardrobe will be by in one hour to take your measurements.”

So I’m to be another one of his uniformed toy soldiers. I thank Petra, and she leaves me.

My trunk and case arrived in my quarters before I did somehow and their contents are arranged in the wardrobe in the bedroom. I find my dragon dressing gown, take my slippers out of the case, and then go poking for the bathroom — the “refresher” in the weird parlance of the Empire, and now the First Order.

It is almost a parody of my taste, with velvet-flocked wallpaper, a huge bathtub — actual water, not just a sonic shower! — and a mirrored wall. I sink gratefully into the bathtub, soaking away the sterile film of space travel. I try not to think. Not about Ben, though I long to reach out and try to sense what he is doing. Certainly not about Hux. Not about the First Order or the Resistance. Not about the certainty I have that the quarters I have now, newly redecorated, were once meant for someone else, someone Ben would rather were in them than me. I don’t know what I’m doing here.

 _In unfamiliar surroundings, observe but do not analyze._ Master Luke’s voice is clear in my mind suddenly. _The Force will help guide your understanding and your actions._

When there is a beep at my door, I am sitting in the cushions in front of the window, feeling the vertigo of space, the millions of points of light, billions of lives, tumbling in the Force.

My stomach lurches, but it is not Ben — just the person from wardrobe. “Come in,” I say, using the console to open the door, and an old woman, delicately boned, in a charcoal shift dress, enters. Her steel gray hair is worn in two braids on either side of her head that meet in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes are warm brown, and for all her air of efficiency, her face is creased with smile lines around her eyes and mouth. She carries a datapad with her.

“Counselor Galan,” she says in ways of greeting. She has an accent I cannot place. “My name is Madame Sten. I have orders to measure you for a full wardrobe. As many items as you like. Here are the designs.” She hands me the data pad.

“Please, Madame Sten, sit down,” I say, gesturing to the closest grouping of chairs. Madame Sten openly eyes the room, and then turns her the same critical gaze on me as we sit down across from each other.

I look over the drawings of suits, very much modeled on Ben’s clothes  — high-collared black tunics and close-fitting trousers in gaberwool and raw silk, wide leather belts embroidered with the same dragon as on my slippers and dressing gown. Ben must have taken images and sent them to her. There are dresses, one very like the black silk dress Ben tore in half. My cheeks prickle at the memory. Madame Sten notices this, I’m sure. Who is she, this woman allowed on the Supreme Leader’s quarters level? She is so like —

“Ah, Counselor,” says Madame Sten. “Do not be nosy.”

The blush on my cheeks spreads across my face. “I’m sorry.”

To my surprise she gives me a tight smile and shakes her finger playfully at me. “You see, I know your tricks.”

I smile back at her. “You remind me of the matron at the Tem — ah, where I went to school,” I say. “Not a lot got past her either.”

Not a lot, except for one girl slipping out of the dormitory as everyone slept, padding through the dark hallways, to meet Ben Solo in the library, to hold his hands, and give him some of her light.

I place an order for five suits, five dresses, some pencils skirts, boots, and a few jaunty hats. It’s overly indulgent to me, but Madame Sten seems pleased, and she clucks indulgently at me while she takes my measurements.

“You will have to do much training if you are to be what you once were,” she says, pinching a bit of flesh on my upper arm.

Somehow, I’m not offended, and not even puzzled that this woman can read my body’s history with a few snaps of her measuring tape. She leaves with the insistent air of efficiency that marks everyone I’ve met on the _Finalizer_ today, an assuredness that makes me feel all the more languid. I put on underclothes and a dress to try to shake it off, and figure out how to order a pot of tea from my quarters’ interface. But the malaise takes over once again, and I find myself back on the chaise, brooding this time.

What did these rooms look like when he thought they would be hers? I don’t even know her name, what she looks like. He keeps that hidden. I think she is younger than I am, stronger in the Force, much stronger. My talent is hardly worth mentioning compared to Ben’s and hers; in the Old Republic, I probably wouldn’t have been worth training as a Jedi at all. But Luke needed children to replenish the ranks in the new era of the Jedi Order. I frown. This was something Ben and I used to whisper about, him resentfully, me defending our Master, whom I adored, for giving kids like me a reason to feel special. I can see now how we were both right.

My door chimes. My tea. I open the door and say, “You can go ahead and put it on that little table there.”

“You shouldn’t open the door without seeing who it is.”

It’s Ben’s low voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hux likes swimming because he reminds me of a certain other space traveler who has a Swimming Certificate... Arnold J. Rimmer of _Red Dwarf_ fame!  
>  Next chapter: As if you don’t know what Ben has in mind right now.


	7. Its Thorn My Only Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christening the new quarters. Then — but can they run the First Order together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early! May the Fourth Be with You!
> 
> This chapter is the start of the curious of problem of deciding what Mira will call Ben in the narrative. I’ve tried to keep it constant that she refers to him as Kylo Ren or the Supreme Leader in scenes when they’re with other people, and Ben when they are alone together.
> 
> The chapter's title is from “The Last Beat of My Heart” by Siouxsie and the Banshees (I prefer the live version over the album one.)
> 
> (See endnotes for the link to the full playlist, which is always expanding.)

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 6, 36 ABY_**

I stand and turn. Ben is carrying a black lacquer tray with a red teapot and two red cups on it, balanced delicately on his fingertips. I can’t help but laugh. “Did you commandeer that from the porter droid?” I ask.

He sets down the tray without speaking, and then in two strides, he crosses the room to me, tugging off his gloves and throwing them to the carpet. He pulls me to him with his hands tight around my waist, his fingers digging into flesh. For a moment the whole galaxy is the meeting of our mouths and the sound of our breath. My hands are wound in his hair once again, and my body seems to become part of his.

He sits on the chaise and pulls me down with him, but there I pull away from him.

“Let’s do this slowly this time,” I say. “No torn clothes.”

And my fingers are undoing the hooks of his tunic, maddeningly slow work, then unfastening his belt, opening his shirt. He watches me intently as he slips it off his shoulders, as I unfasten his trousers and slip them over his hips.

He is hard, gloriously, so, and I want to consume him. I slide my mouth around his cock, tracing my fingers in the fine line of hair that travels down his lower belly. He inhales sharply and his hands dig into the velvet upholstery. After a few strokes, he puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me away.

“It’s not that,” he says to me, sensing my concern that I’ve done something wrong. “I just want something else more.”

His hands are on the fabric of my dress now — gentle this time as he slips it over my head, as he unfastens the clasps of my bra and helps me slip my underwear off. I stand in front of him, and he just _gazes_ , as if examining me, observing new terrain the way were taught at the Temple, the way I had looked at him in my bungalow.

He hadn’t done the same at my bungalow. That was a fervor that had no time for reflection. Is that why he wept? Was it not what he expected? Did he regret what he had done with me? With me rather than her?

“Stop thinking so much,” he says, with a hint of a crooked smile. “I just want to look at you. That’s all.”

After he has looked, taking in the lengths of my limbs, and the curves of my breasts and hips, even the shape of my mouth, the lobes of my ears, he begins to trace each part with the tips of his fingers. My collarbones, the slightly raised skin where my tattoo of golden poppies winds down my right shoulder and arm, the words along my forearms.

“Did these hurt to get?” he asks.

“A bit. But in a good way.”

He nods. This is something he understands. His thumb brushes one of the light scars still visible on my wrist.

“Are these because of me?” he asks.

“Yes. No. They’re because of… everything,” I say. “What about yours?” I brush the faintly raised scars with my fingertips.

“Pain is a connection to the dark side.”

“And you had to use pain to connect to it?”

 _Where is that spark of light? Where is Ben?_ I think. _There, there in the reflection of stars in his eyes, in the hands that rest gently in mine now._

 _“_ Ben,” I whisper. “You had to make yourself choose the dark. It was a _choice._ ”

He puts his finger to my lips, much as I did to his in my bungalow.

“This, what you’re doing now, being here — this is a choice, too. Do you regret it?” he asks.

I shake my head, and then our bodies are together once again, nothing but skin touching skin, the Force still around us, yes, but this time we don’t let it in. It is disarmingly intimate; we are alone with one another — a man and a woman, the same as any others, breath and bone and flesh.

I draw in my breath sharply as he enters me and tighten my thighs against his hips. He looks up at me, still studying me. There is a question on his lips, one that he will not ask me. I answer it, though, with my hands on his face, my lips on his. This time we don’t whisper recriminations to each other. And yet — it still is a kind of combat; our wills are still set against each other, trying to prove something to the other.

He pulls me to him, and suddenly I am beneath him, his hands bracing himself against the head of the chaise as he moves inside me. Though I know it hurts him to hear it, I can’t stop his name from escaping my lips: _Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben._ He is breathing my name now, too, with each movement. My hands are on his hips, urging him deeper. He takes them in his and pushes my arms above my head, then pins them down with one hand encompassing both wrists. He puts his other hand on my cheek, holding me in place so I must look at him.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he whispers.

He is strong, so very strong. Our eyes are locked on one another’s and he is challenging me — will I defy him, will I break free of his grasp? To answer, I make my body rise to meet his, and his grip tightens around my wrists.

“I won’t if you don’t,” I say.

I feel my strength, even as I am pressed into the cushions beneath me, even as my wrists are beginning to ache where his hand holds them. I will make his every request, his every demand, depend on my own desire. If he wants to fuck me, he will hear me call him by his real name. If he wants me to submit, I will do so only if he will too. I wrap one of my legs around him, holding him in place until I see that he understands. Then I release him and open my feelings, and there it is — the Force once again, flowing through both of us, though not let in completely.

Our rising pleasure melds together, building until we cry out together, our faces close to one another’s, the sweat of our bodies mingling. He doesn’t release my wrists until he groans almost as if in pain with the last spasms of his climax. I take in every detail of his face at that moment — so vulnerable, with dark strands of hair plastered to his forehead, the tension evaporating into breathless release.

As we lie together, afterward, our bodies trembling and our breath slowing, a certainty washes over me. This is what it would have been. Had Ben Solo never fallen under Snoke’s influence, had he stayed at the Temple, had Luke learned to understand him, had we both finished our training — we would have had this. The two of us, together. His eyes flutter open and look into mine.

I am crying again. _Why does he do this to me?_

“Don’t look back,” he says. “Don’t regret.”

I put my cheek on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. “It’s so hard not to,” I say. “We could have been —”

“Ah, but we’re not.”

“No.”

His chest rises and falls. My skin begins to cool. I get up to find my dressing gown. Ben wraps a black chenille throw that was draped on a chair around his shoulders, trailing the fringed edge on the ground. We sit down in a nest of cushions, chins propped in hands, and gaze out the window.

We could have been so much. But this is what we are now. I look at his profile. What is he thinking? I get glimpses of his mind, but he is so guarded. He said I’m not revenge. What am I then? A distraction? An amusement? Do I mean anything to him at all? He’s done all this for me — he traveled to the Outer Rim to find me.

Kylo Ren needs to be Ben Solo again sometimes, I think, even if it’s only in these moments when we are sitting together and watching the stars. But does he want to be Ben Solo for my sake? Or just his own? Or for _hers_? Unexpectedly, he puts his chin on my shoulder.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not thinking about you when we’re together, Mira,” he says.

“I don’t think that.”

“You do.”

“Well, yes.”

He sighs, but not unhappily. “You’ve always been able to make me forget everything else.”

“Is that why you brought me here?”

“No. I brought you here because I wanted you to be here.”

I shake my head and laugh. “And the prince gets what he wants.”

“He tries to.” Ben rises and picks up his articles of discarded clothing. “We should get dressed. I’ve called a meeting of the bridge officers. I’d like you to come with me.”

I smirk at him. “Already did that.”

“Mira.”

I lie down on the cushions, throwing my arms wide. “All right, all right, Supreme Leader. I’m so wretchedly tired, though. I’d forgotten how it always feels like nighttime in space, until you get used to it.”

“You didn’t drink your tea.”

“That’s _your_ fault. It’s cold now.”

I start to smile at him, but I have to stop myself. This little scene is too homey, too domestic. It was one thing to tease Kylo Ren when he was posing so seriously as an image on my holoprojector. It’s another thing to do it when he’s naked in my room, as large as life.

* * *

I find something in my cache of drugs — which were secreted in a hidden compartment of my trunk that Hux did _not_ find — to help make me alert before I leave my quarters. A stimulant, not too strong, pretty light blue beads in a capsule. If I think twice about whether it’s a good idea, I make sure there’s no third thought.

I wear my black trousers and tunic again, my code cylinders dutifully clipped to the neckline, but with boots more sensible for walking. And so I follow Kylo Ren on his rounds. Officers and stormtroopers stand at attention and salute as he strides past them. They eye him warily, though, and me along with him.

I fall in step with the Supreme Leader. He has a cloak on now, and his lightsaber on his hip.

“Are you going to introduce me to anyone?” I ask.

“Right now, we’re just observing. The _Finalizer_ is a closed system — every part has a function. The challenge —” He breaks off to eye an officer who fumbles and drops a code cylinder, and then just as abruptly turns away. “The challenge is to apply the same principles to governance.”

“Governance,” I say. “But the New Republic —”

“Is dead, along with the Resistance,” he cuts in.

I am not sure what to say. I think of his mother, struggling mightily against losing him, struggling to keep the pieces of the Republic she had fought so hard for in place.

“What manner of governance does the First Order want to have?” I ask. “So far it’s a military, not a government.”

We are walking through another corridor, quickly now. They all look the same. It is disorienting and almost dreamlike.

“Hux was the architect of that particular problem,” he says. “It sufficed to destroy the Resistance, but if we learn anything from history, a military power can’t keep control of the galaxy forever.”

Two technicians who were bent over a panel in the floor doing maintenance scramble to their feet as they see us approaching. The Supreme Leader gives them a wave to indicate that they should keep working. But they remain standing, staring after us. Kylo Ren gives a slight twitch of his hand, and the spanner in one of their hands clatters to the floor.

“That was _not_ necessary,” I say.

“They were staring at you.”

“Because they don’t know who I am,” I say.

“You’re wrong,” he says. “The necessary people were briefed before you got here so they could prepare. And now that you _are_ here, everyone on the ship knows your name, that your quarters are on the same level as mine, and that Hux and I traveled to the Outer Rim to bring you back.”

“Suns, your people work fast. And how do _you_ know all that already?”

“I’m the Supreme Leader.” The assurance in his voice is maddening.

“They still don’t know who I _am_.”

“They will.”

He is so terse and stiff out here in the ship’s corridors. I try to match his demeanor and attitude, as I try to match his step and posture. I am in disguise here. And suddenly I understand: I am here to put down gossip as much as cause it. Too many people knew about the girl who came aboard the _Supremacy_ , the girl that Kylo Ren said killed Snoke. Too many people have speculated about how she managed to overcome the Praetorian guard and Snoke without killing Kylo Ren, too — too many have wondered what she is to the new Supreme Leader. And now, here I am, dressed in black and by his side, a counterpart who mirrors rather than opposes him, a symbol of his authority. Optics. A perfect politician’s tactic.

“I am not using you,” he says quietly.

“Stop it,” I say.

“You leave your mind open to me.”

“An old habit that I should break,” I say.

He is quiet for a few paces, and then we are in a noisy room, lined with desks, clerks sitting at them busy at work. It is a great, ordered bustle — and it comes to a halt in an instant when he’s seen, and everyone stands still and at attention. The Supreme Leader nods to the room as he passes through. I linger behind for a moment. Well, at least here’s a start at a government — a bureaucracy. Forms to fill out, orders to draft, accounting to compile, purchase orders to approve.

As I catch up, I see a flash of familiar movement in the corner of my eye and glance over. It is Hux, hurrying past the clerks — almost _trotting_. Kylo Ren sighs and eyes him with hostility.

“General Hux,” he says.

“Good afternoon, Supreme Leader. Since we are all on the way to the same meeting, may I walk with you, Miranda?”

“Of course, Armitage,” I say, and he sidles up to my side.

“I’ve just had an idea for an event I think would be quite beneficial for morale,” Hux says, glancing sidelong at Kylo Ren. “If the Supreme Leader agrees.”

“What is it,” the Supreme Leader says, in his flat intonation.

“Just a bit of a reception, to welcome Miranda. To introduce her — High Command only in attendance, of course. To nip any speculation in the bud.”

“What speculation?” the Supreme Leader asks, annoyance edging into his voice.

“Supreme Leader, I’m sure Miranda understands that I only wish to protect her reputation.”

I almost guffaw. “That’s very good of you, Armitage,” I manage to say. “If the Supreme Leader agrees, I’d be honored.”

“Do what you wish,” the Supreme Leader says.

I shrug at Hux. “It seems we’re planning a party,” I say.

“Oh, no, not you,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Leave it all to me.”

I swear I see Ben — because he _is_ Ben in that moment — roll his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dare we imagine what [PARTY HUX](https://78.media.tumblr.com/6711adf791863ce93662a5cdc90d1006/tumblr_od8ny97T3e1v4kj8vo1_1280.jpg) is like? 
> 
> Next chapter: Political discourse!


	8. In Your Sad Machines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day at the new job! Mira gets a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this chapter is a little prequel-like in its political discussions. That's why I'm posting two chapters today!
> 
> The title of this chapter is from "Here Is No Why" by Smashing Pumpkins
> 
> (See endnotes for the link to the full playlist, which is always expanding.)

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 6, 36 ABY_**

The smile I had allowed myself to share with Hux disappears the moment I step into the conference room. Around a long black table are five men and two women. They all stand when the Supreme Leader enters, but their eyes are on me.

Kylo Ren indicates the empty chair to the right of his seat at the head of the table to me. Only after I’ve sat does he take his own seat, and the others follow suit. Hux, with a frown, sits across from me on Kylo Ren’s left.

“General Hux, will you please make the introductions,” the Supreme Leader says.

Ben never did like speaking. He was often silent, and often when he would talk to me, it was softly, just above a whisper, so I would have to lean toward his lips to hear him. Others took this as his being sullen, but it wasn’t true. He was a boy profoundly uncomfortable with himself, even the sound of his own voice.

Sensing my distraction, he is nudging me back to attention. I come back to in the middle of Hux’s listings of the ranks and names of the people around the table. I’ve missed the highest ranking officers. I’ll have to look them up later and fake it in the meantime.

“...Chief Petty Officer Unamo. Your aide, Officer Sloane.”

A severe-looking woman with dark hair and cheekbones like razor blades nods to me.

“Lieutenant Mitaka.”

A _very_ young man nods. His face is set in the stern First Order expression, but with his ears protruding under his cap, his dark eyes blinking nervously, he reminds me of one of the new padawans that Master Luke would pair me with in sparring — knowing that I’d be generous and also that I was not the greatest of fighters myself. And under this facade, too, is fear.

 _Another one who is terrified of Kylo Ren_. I smile slightly at him when I nod, wanting to reassure him. I feel the Supreme Leader inwardly scoff at my kindness.

“And my aide-de-camp, Petty Officer Thanisson.”

I almost start. This one is not much more than a child. But beneath his sandy hair and brows are two dark eyes burning with the intensity of a true believer. He’s fashioned himself after Hux, with his slicked-back hair and arrogant tilt of his chin. Still, he’s a bit awed to find himself being introduced by his idol. I look at him steadily as I nod, thinking of how he may be of use later.

Hux sits down, and all turn now to the Supreme Leader, who must resign himself to speaking now.

“I want to consider plans for forming a permanent government structure for the First Order.”

Hux begins to speak.

“A _civilian_ government,” Kylo Ren says. “Counselor Galan has been brought aboard to consult on this matter, and you will say anything you would say between yourselves to her as well. I am including junior bridge officers in the discussion. They must be part of this shift from its inception, as they will be the ones to carry it out in the long-term.”

There is a moment of silence. Hux glowers.

“Supreme Leader, if I may —” an older, gray-haired man with mottled pink skin, sitting next to Hux, says.

The Supreme Leader responds with his hand wave that means _go on_. “Yes, Captain Peavey.”

“Centrist members of the Galactic Senate have been instrumental in the First Order’s rise. Surely their voices belong in this discussion.”

“Do you mean,” I say, the stimulant-aided clarity of my voice surprising me, “traitors like Carise Sindian and Erudo Ro-Kiintor?”

“ _Traitors_ , Counselor?” Thanisson says, his voice edged with venom. “Do you mean to say you sympathize with the New Republic?”

Hux gives Thanisson a _look_ and then shifts his eyes to the Supreme Leader and then back again to the young officer. Thanisson looks at the table and waits nervously for a reply.

“I _mean to say_ that being the kind of traitors they are is not a matter of belief but of _character_ ,” I say, holding him in my gaze. “If they will betray one cause for personal gain, they will betray another.”

Two of the older officers nod at this. They are holdovers from the old Empire. I try not to think about the horrors they’ve witnessed and committed.

“I agree,” Mitaka says, hesitantly. “But if not _those_ people, who are experienced in governance, who?”

A sudden flare of impatience emanates from the Supreme Leader, an almost imperceptible tightening of his hands, folded in front of him on the table. _Wait_ , I tell him through the Force.

“What do you think, Lieutenant?” I ask.

“If we were — that is, if the High Command were to identify likely candidates amongst the First Order ranks, they could be offered retirement from their military positions to receive training for government roles. Then there would be less conflict of interest.”

“Conflict of interest?” Hux puts in. “The military’s and the government’s interests are one and the same.”

Mitaka ducks his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Still,” I say. “Thank you for the suggestion, Lieutenant.” I turn to address the Supreme Leader. “What is the state of the First Order’s educational system?”

“Beyond the military academies, it is… unsatisfactory.”

“There must be higher education that meets civilian needs, or a government will never be sustainable,” I say.

The lessons from the Temple — the ones that Leia insisted be part of our instruction, about diplomacy and political science, the rhetoric and speech-making classes, come back to me. “New leaders have to be educated if a movement wants to live on. We both know that from experience, Supreme Leader.”

My personal comment to Kylo Ren alluding to our shared history stills the room for a moment.

“The military academies are sufficient for this,” Hux finally says.

“General,” Captain Peavey says, “the academies _your father_ put into place produce excellent officers. But are military officers what _governing_ needs?”

Hux, bless his ginger heart, flushes so thoroughly that the tips of his ears seem to glow. _His father._ His mouth tightens and I sense the rant that is about to be unleashed, so I quickly cut in.

“General, you will have to bring me up to speed on the academies. Perhaps later?”

He lets out his breath. “Yes, I would be happy to, Counselor.”

The conversation continues another hour in this vein: the Supreme Leader saying very little but brooding a lot while I counsel him silently, Hux on the verge of spouting propaganda, the two young officers jockeying for position. Officer Unamo surprises me with her understanding of political theory. I decide I will talk to her more, outside of these meetings where ego-driven men dominate the discussion. In the same thought I wonder what in the galaxy I am doing. Helping the First Order form a government? Ben was right — I had been bored in my life, and I have pounced on the first intellectual task presented to me like a starving person on bread.

Kylo Ren stands abruptly. The sound of chairs scraping the floor quickly follows as the officers stand, too.

“We will take up this subject again,” he says. “You are all dismissed.”

_Mira. Come with me._

I stand and leave the room with him. Behind us, the assembled officers watch us exit. I can only think that it’s all too obvious that Kylo Ren and I have been trading thoughts through the whole meeting. Has Hux told anyone how the Supreme Leader and I know each other? About my Force sensitivity?

No, a quick skim tells me. But I think Unamo, with her sharp, observant mind, could discover it. What then?

“Then nothing. I’m the Supreme Leader,” Kylo says to me as we exit the room housing the administrative staff and step into the corridor.

“You already suspect Hux of plotting against you,” I whisper. “What if they are bent on killing Force users? The Sith failed the Empire, after all. Palpatine and Darth Vader were —”

He stops and turns toward me. “ _Careful_ , Counselor.”

I glare at him. “If that’s what I am, I need to be free to say what I want. Besides, you know what I think anyway.”

He sets his jaw, turns away from me, and keeps walking. I lengthen my stride to catch up with him.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

“No,” he finally says. “I’ll have a meal delivered to my quarters. You may join me if you wish.”

I want to throttle Kylo Ren. His Supreme Leader persona is grating, but also under that annoyance, I have the old desire to tease him.

“I think you’ll like something I ordered from Madame Sten,” I say. “It’s a dress with a _cape_. Very dramatic. Very good for striding around a battleship and looking important.”

“ _Mira_.”

“Ah-ah,” I admonish. “We’re in public.”

“Counselor. I am sure your new dress will be very… pleasing.”

I sputter and laugh, drawing the attention of two officers at a console. When they see whom I’m with, their eyes widen in shock, and then they quickly stand at attention. I wait until we’re in the turbolift to speak again, but my words come out through another peal of laughter.

“When you say ‘pleasing,’ Supreme Leader, do you mean for me to wear? Or for you to to take off?”

But I sense he is still very serious. He doesn’t wear his mask anymore, but there is another that is far more difficult to remove. He looks at me, studying my smile, then takes my hand in his gloved one. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead on mine, and we remain like this until the lift doors slide open. He keeps his hand around mine as he leads me to his quarters. They are far from the lift, and our footsteps are eerie in the empty corridor.

“Where is everyone?” I ask. “Don’t you have guards or something?”

There’s an awkward pause. “The Praetorian Guard is gone,” he says.

I get a quick flash of burning red fabric and the smell of lightsaber-singed flesh.

“And the Knights of Ren?”

“I have no need of them here.”

“But where are they?”

“Not here.”

He squeezes my hand, and it is almost as much a warning as a reassurance. We are at his door now. It slides open and he lets me go in before him.

“Ben,” I say. “It’s _dark_ in here.”

The walls are bare dark metal; the furniture is all black leather and right angles; the lighting is dusky blue, and the red lights of the control consoles glow eerily. I see a desk, though, on it a black tea pot and cup, and next to it a inkwell and pen.

Ben removes his lightsaber and places it on a platform of black stone. It locks into place.

“Excuse me,” he says, and walks through the double doors into his bedroom.

I settle in on his couch, which is comfortable enough despite its severe design, and take off my boots. He returns without his gloves and cloak and sits in a chair to my right. His elbows are on his knees, his hands massaging his forehead, pressing against his eyes.

“You’re tired,” I say.

“The Supreme Leader does not get tired,” he says.

“You’re not the Supreme Leader right now, Ben.”

He throws himself backward in his chair, sprawling his long legs out in front him, stretching his neck back, and letting his arms fall over the sides of the chair.

“Did you know Snoke forbade anyone from saying it — my old name? I thought it was to support me, to show that my authority and identity were inviolate. But now I see it was just another one of his methods.”

“To control you,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Did you want that, though? To erase Ben Solo?”

“I thought I did.”

“It makes the memory stronger, fighting against it. The more you try to forget it, the more it lingers. It’s like that old joke about not thinking about a white Bantha.”

He puts his hands to his face again. “I know. Don’t you think I haven’t grappled with that, haven’t struggled with it?”

“Of course not.” I shift so that I’m leaning on the arm of the couch, closer to him. “Do you know, all those years on Gaia — for eight years, I had to pretend my past didn’t exist, too. I had to hide who I am. And not just that. You could use it, your power. On Gaia, I couldn’t let anyone know what I was capable of. My lightsaber, hidden away. No one to train with. I held onto my abilities any way I could without drawing suspicion — meditating, dancing. I took martial arts classes, but I always had to hold back, pretend that I wasn’t capable of what I can do. My abilities were never as strong as yours, I know, but they _mean_ something to me. You were right — I wasn’t satisfied with my life. I was selling jewelry, making pottery, when I used to be a _Jedi_ , Ben. A Jedi! And so were you.”

He sits back up and holds his gaze on me, steady and intense. But his lips are trembling again, his eyes shiny. “But we’re not anymore,” he says.

“No,” I say. “We’re not.”

He stands up and crosses to his door, alerted to the porter droid arriving with our meal.

“You should start training again,” he says as he passes. “Tomorrow morning.”

We eat our meal and sit up half the night with cups of tea while debating the broad outlines of types of governments, philosophies of the social contract. Then we kiss and fumble on his angular couch like inexperienced teenagers, the way we might have if we had been regular kids instead of students in his uncle’s experimental efforts to re-establish the Jedi Order.

And then I leave his room, my sore lips with a secretive smile on them, my neck ringed with faint teeth marks, and we sleep in our own rooms. If he dreams, he has learned how to hide that from me, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me, or are these two doing these in reverse order? They screwed all night the same day that they saw each other for the first time in years (after that awkward business of Ben killing everybody), and now they’re kissing on the couch like Uncle Luke is about to walk in.
> 
> Oops, should I not mention that?
> 
> It’s probably not realistic that Mitaka and Thanisson would be in a meeting about the structure of the First Order’s government, but I wanted to get those two in the same room. And Mira’s observation about their youth will play a part in upcoming events.
> 
> Next chapter: Training Day!


	9. If You Put Metal Inside of a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben gets his ass kicked, but he kind of likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME TO [GET PUMPED](https://78.media.tumblr.com/ef49742aee442e18f180ebd4f184b626/tumblr_p5msafyz4S1wk3b91o6_540.gif)
> 
> I don’t have a lot of experience with lightsaber combat, and I’m sure it shows! I did a lot of totally embarrassing dancing around to try to figure out how to describe things.
> 
> The title of this chapter is from "Oh Injury" by Rasputina. 
> 
> (See the endnotes for the link to the full playlist, which is always expanding.)

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 6, 36 ABY_**

I wake with none of the confusion of being in a new place. It’s strange, but somehow on this monstrous ship, thousands of klicks away from the surface of any planet, I am grounded. In less than 24 hours, erstwhile Jedi Miranda Galan is going thoroughly local on a First Order star destroyer.

I have to make myself fight it. It’s Ben’s fault; it’s our shared childhoods’ fault. He’s the only person who knows me, really knows me, whom I have seen in more than a decade. This strikes me with a sudden nausea. Every living person whom I loved l has abandoned me, but Kylo Ren, who used be Ben Solo, has not. No wonder this feels like home already — it’s not just the velvet and the cushions and the warm lighting. It’s Ben.

Ben, who always needed far less sleep than I do. Ben, who is making my door chime, and who, when I go to open it, strides into my quarters in a sleeveless black shirt and tight black pants, his hair pulled back like when he was a padawan.

“You’re not ready,” he says.

“For what?” I say sleepily, trying to thread my arm into my dressing gown.

“Training,” he says.

“Oh, Suns.” I let the dressing gown fall.  “You were serious about that.”

He just looks at me.

“Of course you were,” I say. “Hold on.”

I run to my room to quickly wash up and dress. I put on a leotard and leggings that I used for dancing back on Gaia and pull my hair back, braiding it in a style that Leia taught me many years ago. When I go back into the lounge, a porter droid has delivered some kind of breakfast substance in brushed metal cups.

“Horrible blue milk protein shakes,” he says, holding one out to me.

“Screw you, Kylo Ren.”

I drink it anyway. As we walk to the training room, I try not to think about how horrifyingly embarrassing this session is going to be.

The training room is _huge_ , like everything on this huge fucking ship, but it’s less shiny-slick than other parts of it. The floor is covered in a springy, matte black material, and on the walls are banners — the First Order insignia, black on red; the old Imperial crest, white on black — and racks of sparring weapons, some of which I don’t even recognize. I feel very small standing in the middle of the room.

“You should at least let me warm up by sparring with one of those children who were in your bridge officers meeting yesterday,” I say.

He swings his arms back and forth, then grabs each elbow, stretching. Every muscle in his arms and shoulders flexes. My stomach lurches.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

* * *

It is not ten minutes into training before I am flat on my back, wincing at the old, familiar sensation of my teeth rattling along with the wooden sparring saber as I hit the floor.

“Well, that takes me back,” I say, getting back to my feet as quickly as I can.

“I could have killed you ten times just now,” Ben says.

“I’m sure you could have,” I say, rolling my eyes as I get back into my stance, which, Ben has been so good to remind me, is very sloppy. I call the wooden saber back to my hand.

“You can at least still do _that_ ,” he says, almost sneering.

From the array of sparring weapons on the wall, I call another sword, shorter than a shoto lightsaber, almost dagger-length, to my right hand and immediately go on offense. He blocks my saber blow, but I jab quickly with the shorter sword, striking him in the ribs. I barely dodge the wide arc of his swing as he spins away from me and block the overhead blow he counterattacks with. It’s not the most elegant of defenses, but I’m still on my feet, and I manage to push him away with a Force-aided thrust with my saber in my left hand while slashing at his thigh with the short blade in my right. He smirks at me as he grabs my wrist with his left hand just as I make contact, forcing me to drop the short sword, and pulls me down to the floor once again.

He backs away and paces as I stand again. “You learned a few tricks after you left the Temple,” he says.

“Not enough of them, obviously,” I say, shaking out my wrist.

I am panting slightly from the exertion, but Ben is perfectly composed.

“Come here,” he says. “Stand next to me and show me what you were doing.”

“Oh, so you can take apart the only technique I have of even getting near you? Nuh-uh.”

“I want to know what you learned,” he says earnestly. “And maybe we can make it even stronger. It’s for both of our sakes.”

He sees us fighting side-by-side, I realize. Not against each other.

“All right,” I say, regripping the sparring swords.

He watches closely as I demonstrate the two-blade technique, then copies my movements. We practice the forms together again and again, refining them, adding to them.

“You’re right to favor this technique,” he says. “It’s effective for a smaller person facing a large opponent.”

I laugh. “That’s why I learned it. I think I always envisioned beating you in sparring again someday.”

“I don’t recall that ever happening.” He spins his sparring saber in his hand and doesn’t look at me.

“Like hell you don’t! We were sixteen. I swept your legs out from under you and had my blade at your neck. You gave me the silent treatment for the rest of the day!”

“I was thinking about how you did it.”

“Ah, so you admit it. Did you ever figure it out?”

“Yes.”

“So? How did I do it?”

“You smiled at me.”

* * *

We train for three hours and by the end of it my whole body is screaming at me, I’m certain I have about ten different bruises that are going to spread and unite into one body-sized bruise, and I’m drenched in sweat. Ben is hardly ruffled.

“This isn’t fair,” I say, not getting up from the place on the floor where I fell. “I shouldn’t be sparring against someone who could kill me any time he wanted.”

Ben sits down next to me, cross-legged. His brow is furrowed. “Do you really think that? That I would kill you?”

“ _Could_ ,” I say. “Would — well, that I don’t know. It’s not an unheard of thing for you to do, you know.”

“I didn’t before.”

“Which makes me hopeful.”

He leans over me, resting one elbow on the floor. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

 _Oh Ben_. Here he is again, the Ben of our days at the Temple. I want to hold on to the moment, not let the soft look in his eyes or his parted lips set back into the impassive inscrutability of Kylo Ren. So I touch his face and trace the line of his mouth and pull him down to kiss me.

When we part, I slide out from under him and leap to my feet, calling both sparring swords to my hands. He is on defensive in an instant, but I still manage to get a strike to his shoulder and a slash to his midsection. He dodges, and I use the moment to land a kick on his hip and then slash the back of his leg with my sparring saber. He doesn’t fall, but I’m well aware that if we had live lightsabers he would be down. And he didn’t connect a single hit on me.

I keep my saber pointed at him, barely containing the smirk that badly wants to break through.

He drops his sparring saber and raises his hands in mock surrender. “What isn’t fair now?”

“I think I like fighting dirty,” I say, lowering my saber. “Speaking of — we’re both a mess — well, me mostly, but still. Come to my quarters and take a bath.”

“A bath.”

“Yes, you have heard of that, haven’t you?”

He sighs. “Of course, Mira, but I have a lot to do today, and so do you.”

”I do?”

“Your place is by my side, so, yes.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Is that so?”

He looks at me seriously. “I hope so,” he says.

I smile the soft, stupid smile of a girl with a crush in spite of myself. _Ben_.

I shake it off. “Ugh, all right. Go clean up and dress and meet me in my quarters in a half-hour.”

He gives me one of his almost-smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

We leave the training room companionably, me bumping my shoulder against his arm. I realize that I haven’t thought about how much I hate him once today.

* * *

I make do with the sonic shower, as unsatisfying as it is. When I come out I find a protocol droid has been waiting outside of my quarters, the first one I’ve seen on the _Finalizer_. It has the huge, insectoid eyes of a RA-7 droid and walks in with a stiff, mincing gait when I open the door, a large garment bag draped across its arm.

“Greetings, Counselor Galen. My designation is LZ-87. Madame Sten sends her compliments. She regrets that she cannot deliver your uniform herself and begs your pardon.”

I clap my hands. “Oh, that’s all right. She certainly works fast! Let me see!”

LZ-87 complies. “This is but a partial fulfillment of your order, but Madame Sten believed you would want to have it now.”

“Madame Sten was correct.” I run my hand over the fine gaberwool of the black tunic. “Thank you, Ellzee.”

When Ben arrives at my quarters, I open the door while standing at attention. The uniform fits perfectly, and it even has little pockets on the belt for my code cylinders. I am excited despite myself — despite the very real fact that I have dressed myself in clothes made by and in the style of an entity that I regard as evil. Once again, for the hundredth time, I ask myself what I am doing here.

“Well,” Ben says. “That is certainly… Hux will approve.”

“ _Hux again_.”

“You’ll be talking to him today. About the stormtrooper program. I told him to set time aside for it this afternoon.”

I realize, with a sigh, that he is Kylo Ren once again. “Lead the way, Supreme Leader,” I say.

When we exit the turbolift, I mimic his posture once again, walking at his left side with my hands behind my back. I try not to smile at the beeping mouse droids zipping by my feet. I nod to the officers and stormtroopers who stand at attention as the Supreme Leader passes. He may keep a distance, but I am playing the part of the lady of the manor. I sense their wariness, however, and in some cases contempt. So does Kylo Ren, and he reserves his attention for the glares that he gives to those from that contempt is emanating. Chastened expressions quickly replace the barely visible hostility as we pass. I give them a little smile as if to say they’re forgiven, but I remember their faces.

It is surprising, this sense of power. I have been on the _Finalizer_ for less than a day, and already the crew believes that their fates are somehow tied to what I think of them. Also surprising is that I don’t think of them, for the most part. There are just _so many_ of them that their individuality becomes abstract.

Kylo Ren takes an abrupt left turn, and I just manage not to collide with him. We enter the first door in the corridor, and it is yet another huge room, the one with the window looking over a hub of activity that I saw in the holovideo. More blocky furniture, all in black, and a huge desk of smooth black stone. He indicates a door on the far side of the room.

“That opens to your office,” he says. “There’s also a door to the corridor. Keep it locked and don’t open it before you look to see who is on the other side. Lieutenant Sloane will be in shortly to help you familiarize yourself with everything.”

This seems to be my cue to take my leave. Before I do, though, I have to ask him: “You still want me to… do what we agreed? With Hux?”

He lowers his eyes for a second, then returns them to me. “I leave that up to you.”

I nod and then turn away from him.

“Counselor Galan,” he says behind me.

I turn. “Yes, Supreme Leader?”  

“Mira.” He is standing in profile to me, his head bowed, his gloved hand on his desk.

“Yes, Ben.”

“Thank you for helping me.” He doesn’t look up.

“You’re welcome.”

He walks to the large window. I stand, looking at his back for a moment, and then go into my own office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get the feeling that the Hux situation is going to be… complicated. Don’t you?
> 
> Next chapter: A meeting of minds


	10. I Was Raised by the Strife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gossip in space is pretty insidious. Mira gets to do a little more thinking about her and Ben’s shared past — and about his parents.
> 
> And she does a party trick for Hux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to do more reading, but I can’t really get a clear sense of how old Ben Solo was when he went to train with Luke. I’ve envisioned the Temple as something of a boarding school. The kids start there early, but not as young as in the Old Republic days.
> 
> The title of the chapter is from "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio.
> 
> (See the endnotes for the link to the full playlist, which is always expanding.)

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 6, 36 ABY_**

My office is not as big as his, of course, and I actually much prefer it that way. Kylo Ren came into being in cavernous First Order rooms, but some of my fondest memories are of being in the cozy confines of my house with my mother on Tatooine, with thick white walls to keep out the brutal heat and choking sand. Or even in my little bungalow on Gaia, which seems as many years away as klicks now. I think of Ben, sitting at my kitchen table and eating stew and rice. Another glimpse of that life we could have had. Instead, we’ll be in these two rooms most of the day, reading documents, discussing whatever it is you discuss when you are running a galactic dictatorship.

The room, like Kylo Ren’s office, has a window that looks over the bay below, where stormtroopers are now drilling, standing in ranks holding their blaster rifles. I turn away from the scene. There is the same shiny black floor as in the rest of the ship, but under my desk is a purple rug, very fine and thick. My desk itself is a smaller version of the one in the Supreme Leader’s office, so shiny I can see my reflection in it, darkened as if in a shadow. There are two datapads on it. I test my code cylinders on them, and they unlock. They’re loaded with documents about the First Order High Command and the training academies. Two purple armchairs, much more comfortable-looking than standard issue First Order, face the desk. In the corner is a small sofa. There’s even a little table with a fiery magenta orchid in a pot on it.

I am exploring the en suite fresher when my door chimes. I remember to find the viewing panel on the wall and look at who is there before I open the door this time. It’s Lieutenant Sloane.

She walks in and stands stiffly in front of me. “Is everything to your liking, ma’am?”

“Did you arrange all of this, Petra?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s lovely! And I told you, call me Miranda. Let’s sit down.”  I indicate the chairs. “Now, let me guess. You’re going to tell me that General Hux will be coming to my office.”

“Yes, he’ll be here in two hours.”

“And in the meantime I should read the information loaded on the datapads.”

“Yes.”

“Well, with that taken care of, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Not at all. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

“Do you know who I am?” I ask. “Not in the ‘I’m famous, don’t you know who I am’ sense, but just in an ordinary sense.”

“You’re a consultant the Supreme Leader has recruited to help in the design of the First Order’s system of government. To be his personal adviser.”

“Well, yes, of course that’s the official line. And I _am_ doing that. But are people saying more? Are they wondering why my quarters are where they are, why the Supreme Leader and General Hux went to fetch me themselves?”

“Well…” She looks askance.

“Please tell me. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Well, everyone knows that the Supreme Leader doesn’t let General Hux out of his sight, so to speak, so that’s why he went with him.”

Another detail to file away. “Yes, but what do they say about why the Supreme Leader went?”

“Some people are — I’ve heard that —” She is profoundly uncomfortable. I wonder if I could mind trick it out of her, but that would be unkind. “It is assumed that you and the Supreme Leader had… a prior relationship, which you are now resuming.”

“Ah,” I say. “I thought so.”

“I will do my best to quash the rumors, ma’am,” she says. “I have thought that they are inappropriate, and should the Supreme Leader hear about them —”

“No, no,” I say. “You know as well as I do that they’re true.”

Her dark cheeks redden slightly. “It’s not my business.”

“I think we might as well not hide it. Hiding it makes it seem sordid. Although —” I almost say “maybe that’s part of the appeal,” but I make myself stop. I don’t want to scandalize this poor young woman, whom I’m already making so uneasy. “Well, as you say, we needn’t discuss it. In any case, they don’t say anything else about me?”

“Oh, well, you know how soldiers are, ma’am. The stormtroopers have theories. You’re a high-ranking Resistance defector, or you’re a renegade university professor, or you’re a spy, or an assassin, or you’re a — I’m sorry — a woman who sells herself.” She purses her lips.

“No, _I’m_ sorry, Petra,” I said. “I know this is awkward. We’ll just have to do something about the false rumors.”

“General Hux can put an end to it,” she says.

“I’m sure he can. But let’s not get his methods involved yet. Speaking of General Hux, I’ll have to start reading those documents to prepare for our meeting.”

We stand and she departs. Petra didn’t mention anyone speculating that I may have known the Supreme Leader when he was a student at the Jedi Temple, but, then, very few people know about his prior life. I don’t sense she’s hiding anything from me. Hux is the only one who knows. I am growing uneasy about this. Why did I tell him? _Too late now._

I settle down on the sofa with the datapads, which are loaded with information that, as it turns out, Hux has prepared himself. It is precise and dry. I order tea, and by the time it arrives, I am already nodding. I still haven’t gotten used to being in space, and after the training this morning with Ben, I am beginning to feel limp and useless. I scroll through the documents, pausing on the images of stormtrooper cadets. They are so young. As young as I was when I went to train at the Temple, I remind myself. But that was different. I still saw my mother. I had the affectionate presence of Master Luke, and the rest of Ben’s family. They treated me as one of their own.

But Kylo Ren had destroyed all of that.

I haven’t allowed myself to dwell on Han Solo’s death. He was swaggering, forever making jokes and teasing. He taught Ben and me how to fly. He tried to teach me how to fire a blaster, but I refused to learn, and he said, “All right, all right, _Obi-Wan_ ,” smirking and exchanging a knowing wink with Luke. It strikes me, he’s there in both Ben and I — in Ben’s smirk, in my sarcasm. I was fatherless, but between him and Luke and Chewbacca, I was well-provided with male role models.

But Han would go away for weeks at time, and Leia’s face would grow strained. They seemed more alive when they were together, even though I knew that they argued, that they worried about Ben. Ben would return from breaks at home angry and hurt, convinced he was failing them. His pain would throb around him, dark with a fiery core.

I’ve let the data pad slide from my lap in my reverie. I pick it up, but instead of returning to reading, I stand to stretch my sore body. I take my cup of tea to the big bay window and watch the stormtroopers, products of Hux’s training program, getting on transports. Where are they going? I wonder. What is their mission? How many people are going to die?

In the years after the destruction of the Temple, the reports would trickle in to Gaia. The Knights of Ren, Ben leading them as Kylo Ren, and their trail of death across the galaxy. They did Snoke’s bidding, putting down pockets of rebellion, chasing and killing Jedi who had survived the Empire’s purge — very old men and women now. They thought the rest of us, who were training, were all dead. But Ben knew I wasn’t.

I have often asked myself why I survived when everyone else died, what the Force wanted from me. I would meditate on the question and never find the answer. Now I know that I survived because Ben allowed me to. But to what purpose? I still don’t know.

As I’m watching the hive of activity below, my door chimes. I look at the viewer, and there is Armitage Hux, standing stiffly, glancing around self-consciously, almost as if he’s _hoping_ someone will see him at my door. I open it.

“Come in, Armitage.”

He gives my new suit an approving lookover as he comes in. “Well, you look very smart, Miranda, if I may say so.”

From the way he smiles at me and catches himself drumming his hand nervously against his thigh, I know he has come expecting something more than a conversation about training programs and academies.

I pour him some tea and steer him the sofa. “You see, I get to repay your hospitality.”

There is a prickle at the base of my skull, and I know it is Ben, in his office, aware that Hux is here. I close off my mind as best I can.

“I was just admiring your handiwork.” I say, spooning sugar into his cup. “They’re certainly well-trained.”

“Ah, yes. Discipline is foremost in the stormtrooper training program.”

“How is it, do you think,” I say, speaking deliberately, “that one of the stormtroopers broke his psych conditioning and defected?”

Hux stops the travel of his cup halfway between the table and his lips. “How do you know about that?”

“Armitage, he’s a Resistance hero. His image was in their propaganda. He’s young, handsome, a perfect poster boy, along with Poe Dameron, the pilot who escaped with him.”

Hux goes very white. “What happened with FN-2187 was a breakdown in the command structure. His commanding officer did not inspire loyalty as she should have. This has since been remedied.”

“Ah, loyalty. Yes. About the Resistance — what they lack in numbers and discipline they make up for in part with charisma,” I say. “I knew Poe.” I decide not to mention under what circumstances. “I met him only a few times, but I still know that any squadron he leads is going to be completely devoted to him. He inspires confidence — and loyalty.”

Hux narrows his pale eyes at me. “Was Thanisson right about you? Do you sympathize with the Resistance?”

“I don’t sympathize with anyone, Armitage. I told you, I’m my _own_ creature. I know that you have to respect your opponent’s strengths in order to defeat them, though. Sometimes exploiting their strengths is better than preying on their weaknesses.”

We both drink our tea, looking at each other. He purses his lips as he swallows.

“Is that something the Supreme Leader told you?” he asks.

I eye him steadily. “No. But if he’s said the same thing it’s because we learned it in the same place.”

Hux shifts in his seat, scooting to the edge so that his knees nearly touch mine. “I must admit,” he says in a low voice. “I’m intrigued by your training at the Jedi Temple. Obviously it was flawed, or else it wouldn’t have been destroyed so easily, by just one student, but it produced the Supreme Leader and… you.”

“The Jedi Temple produced Ben Solo, not Kylo Ren,” I say.

Hux’s jaw tightens. “There is no Ben Solo.”

I nod. “Snoke made sure of that, at least in theory.”

A darkness passes over Hux’s mind. Clearly, Snoke was a toxic presence in his life — I sense the humiliation, the hatred of his own desire to please. He notices me studying him.

“Damn it all,” he says. “You do that too. You’re of a kind, the two of you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just like seeing or hearing — it’s a sense that you can’t just turn off without effort. I’m not trying to intrude, Armitage. I’m not… I’m not like him.”

His eyes stray from my eyes, to my lips, to my hand that’s curled around the teacup, and back up again. “Can I —” he begins. “May I… Will you show me something, something you can do?”

“Using the Force isn’t a party trick,” I say.

“I just want to understand,” he says. “Please.”

I sigh, but then set down my teacup.

“All I do,” I say, making myself slow down a process that I’ve been able to perform without thinking since I was a child, “is make myself aware of the cup.” I hold out my hand. “I can feel the warmth of the tea warming the air around the cup. I can feel the smooth porcelain. I can feel my intention, and the path it will take.”

A little nudge in the Force, and I lift it above the table. A little pull, and it moves steadily into my hand. Hux is leaning toward me, and his breath catches.

“You’ve seen the Supreme Leader use the Force hundreds, maybe thousands of times,” I say. _Often on you._ “Floating a teacup is nothing in comparison, I’m sure.”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen it used so… gently,” he says.

I take a sip of my tea. There has been nothing gentle in Hux’s life, I sense. I feel it in his body’s memory, his face slammed onto the floor over and over, the backsides of hands striking his cheek, his own intense glare looking at him from his own reflection.

“I told you, I’m not like him.”

Suddenly I wish Ben were here with me to tell me whether or not I’m lying. But Hux obviously thinks I’m telling the truth. He looks at me with wide eyes, and I fight against the pity for him I feel rising in me. It’s not just pity for him, though. We are broken children, the three of us, playing at our roles — Supreme Leader, General, Counselor. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker.

Broken children making more broken children. I pick up the datapad again and look at the pictures of the cadets.

“How old are Lieutenant Mitaka and Petty Officer Thanisson?” I ask.

Hux frowns and shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know precisely. Mitaka is twenty-one, perhaps. Thanisson is a bit younger.”

“He idolizes you, that one,” I say.

He smiles self-consciously. “I try to be a model to my subordinates.”

“We all grow up so fast in this war, don’t we? And yet… we don’t.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

I set down my cup and stand. “I was nine when I went to train with Luke Skywalker. And even that young I felt — we all felt — the weight of what we were doing. We were the rebirth of the Jedi Order, being trained by a man who was already a legend.” I turn back to him. “I sense that you know what that’s like — that pressure to be worthy of inheriting a great legacy. You do, don’t you?”

He nods.

“The pressure… I suppose what it does to you depends on what you’re made of. Pressure can crush softer stone into dust. But it can also make kyber crystals. And kyber crystals can be pure and clear or they can be occluded or cracked or… corrupted. The crystal in Kylo Ren’s lightsaber — it’s cracked. I’ve never seen him ignite it, but I can feel its damage whenever I’m near it.”

Hux’s hate for Kylo Ren emanates from him like heat. Yes, there is intention there, but behind it there’s just a murky blank. Actions that I can’t see. So here is where I must use the hatred he’s feeling, to turn the conversation — to begin to convince Hux that I hate the Supreme Leader as he does, that I would kill him if I could. It isn’t difficult because when I am not near Kylo Ren, not seeing Ben in his eyes and gestures, I _do_ hate him.

“He used to have a light blue lightsaber, did you know? I wonder what happened to it. Better if he destroyed it,” I say, letting my voice shake with real emotion. “It’s the lightsaber he had when he killed all of my friends.”

Hux doesn’t reply. He glances toward the door adjoining my office with the Supreme Leader’s.

“You’re right,” I say quietly. “I can’t keep him from seeing what’s in my mind, not entirely. It takes a great effort, and he’s stronger than I am.”

I turn my attention back to the stormtroopers. Some are now returning from a mission, exiting a shuttle in perfect order, but I sense their weariness — and not just bodily fatigue.

“Crushed, cracked, rarefied, whatever — the pressure, it alters you,” I say. “You’re not what you would have been if you had existed in open air, free to do what you wished. FN-2187 was different, I think. Somehow he managed to keep hold of something of what he would have been, without the molding — without the pressure.”

“His psych report gave no indication that his conditioning had failed,” Hux says.

There’s a tremor in his voice. He is beginning to understand what I mean, and the glimpse into my relationship with the Supreme Leader has started an idea blooming in his mind.

“Everybody is more than psych reports. Look at yourself. Look at me. Look at the Supreme Leader.”

Hux stands and crosses the room so that he is standing by my side. He has the strong profile of a king on an old-fashioned coin, a slight bump on the bridge of his otherwise straight nose, a soft jaw and firm chin.

“Do you really want to do to them what was done to us?” I ask.

“We have no choice. We need an army, and I have created one — using the best methods to make it lethal and effective.”

“It’s so hard to think of who they are under those helmets.”

“It doesn’t matter who they are, particularly,” Hux says, his voice tight and almost angry.

“I’d like to meet some of them,” I say. “To get a sense of what it does to them, their training.”

Hux shakes his head. “No. No, that is out of the question. You are not part of the military hierarchy, and your role is counseling the Supreme Leader, not interacting with the rank and file.”

“And if I need to speak to the rank and file to counsel the Supreme Leader effectively? What then?”

He sighs. “I will see what I can do.”

I laugh. “You’re General Armitage Hux! The Supreme Leader keeps you near him at all times. Who in the galaxy is going to overrule you?”

He puffs up a bit. “Well, I will think about it, then.”

I put my hand on his arm. “Thank you, Armitage.”

He puts his hand on mine, hesitantly, and then quickly withdraws it.

When we part, I take his hands in mine. “We must talk again,” I say.

“Yes, of course,” he says. His cheeks are glowing pink.

I collapse on my sofa once the door has closed, putting my hands to my face. I was stupid to expect I could do this without guilt.

“He’s a monster, Mira,” I whisper to myself. “Hurt little boy or not, he’s a monster.”

But so is Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren, who used to be Ben Solo, the boy I loved.

Kylo Ren who is walking through the door adjoining our offices and crossing the floor with his boots thudding on the shiny floor. I stand up to meet him, and his hands are under my elbows, pulling me toward him, in an instant.

“I don’t want you to do this,” he says. His voice is low and fierce, the words almost forced through his gritted teeth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh. Our girl has Hux all primed for conquest, and Ben is losing stomach for the whole thing. Just like when he couldn’t kill his mom, am I right?
> 
> Next chapter: Madame Sten’s secrets revealed!
> 
> The chapter's title is from "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio.
> 
> (See the endnotes for the link to the full playlist, which is always expanding.)


	11. I Will Burn For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira prepares for battle, and she learns about Madame Sten’s past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “#1 Crush” by Garbage
> 
> See the end notes for the link to the full playlist -- it's always being updated!

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 6  & 7, 36 ABY_**

I try not to relish the feeling of his gloved hands around my arms, the fiery expression on his face as he looks down at me. I try not to let my body do what it wants, try not to put my hands on his shoulders and push him into the wall and press my lips so hard against his that we both come away bruised. Instead, I remain perfectly still and return his gaze.

“Hux is trying to _kill you_. I can feel his hatred of you. You’re right, he’s planned something.”

“I can survive whatever it is.”

I look into his eyes, so dark and deep and full of the same thoughts I used to see in them. _Oh, Ben_.

“What if you can’t?”

“What do you care?” he says. “You hate me, too.”

I clench my jaw. “I hate Kylo Ren,” I say. “I loved Ben Solo. If I have to defend Kylo Ren’s life to save Ben Solo’s, I’ll do whatever it takes. Just like you said.”

He lets go of my arms and turns his back to me. _Come back_ , my traitorous brain wants me to say.

“It’s not worth it,” he says. “It’s not worth you —” He gestures futilely at the sofa.

“ _That_?” I say. “That is what this is about? The Supreme Leader doesn’t want his mistress fucking someone else?”

He turns back to me. “When did you become so vulgar, Mira?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “Maybe at about the same time that you became so _evil_.”

His anger flares, and it’s terrible, like a blow to my chest. He regains control over it as soon as he sees me react, though, and we stand staring at each other, breathing hard.

“You brought me out here to use me,” I say, a mocking tone creeping into my voice. “But now that I’m here, you want me all to yourself.”

“And does that make me evil?”

“No. Killing everybody who loved you makes you evil. Killing my friends makes you evil. Killing countless others makes you evil.”

“ _Then why are you here?_ ” he explodes, his hands clenching.

“I told you. I loved Ben Solo.” I lick my lips. “No. I _love_ Ben Solo.”

He looks at me as if across a gulf that is growing ever wider.

“You can’t save me, Mira,” he whispers.

“I know.”

I hold my hands out to him, palms up. For a moment, he doesn’t move. But then, slowly, he crosses to me, and places his hands on mine.

“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe Ben Solo can save himself. But even if he can’t, I’ll take every moment I can get with him.”

 _There is a light_ , I think, taking in every detail of his face. I know he feels it — that I am asking, willing, begging him. I feel his will pull against it.

The struggle that was always in Ben Solo was against the dark. Kylo Ren is resisting the pull toward the light. But his hands are still in mine. I hold onto them.

“And it never goes out,” I finally say.

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him, softly. With my eyes closed, I can pretend that he is the boy he used to be, that I am the girl I used to be.

* * *

The life that takes shape for me and the Supreme Leader is nothing like the one that exists out there in the _could have been_. But I am beginning to see that a life like that, full of domestic details and mundane concerns, would have grated on us both. It wouldn’t have lasted. We’re both too restless by nature.

We train every morning, and I begin to resemble what “I once was,” as Madame Sten put it. So far, I haven’t managed to best him again in sparring, but he makes up for every blow he lands with kisses and nips to my neck. He has a banner with my red dragon on it and another with his cross-shaped lightsaber hung in the training room.

Sometimes the training sessions are the only times we have alone with each other on days when First Order business keeps us in our offices. I meet with Chief Petty Officer Unamo and Petra regularly, read documents, compose memos, sit in meetings. When his duties keep him in his office late, I sometimes eat alone in my own room, and then sit with my hookah until the world is as hazy as the smoke. Often, though, I dine with Hux in the officer’s hall. I’ve become a regular feature of life on the _Finalizer_. I talk and laugh and debate with officers in impeccable uniforms. I draw Hux closer, letting him see more of who I am, letting him see my anger — and all the while Kylo Ren’s presence is there with me, simmering with a rage that he has made himself live with.

On those nights, he’ll come to my quarters later full of hunger that I meet with my own, and the overpowering mixture of lust and hate and longing will leave both of us bruised and bitten, sometimes bloody, my rooms like scenes of combat.

We always sleep separately, in our own beds.

* * *

Madame Sten approves of my new fitness regimen, at least as far as fitting my clothes goes.

“You see, I knew you were a strong girl,” she says, massaging my bicep as I hold my arms out as she is draping muslin around me. “We shouldn’t let our strengths go to waste, I always say. Me, this is what I look like, but what I can do, I do.”

“How long have you been doing it? Designing clothes, I mean,” I ask.

Madame Sten has always cowed me somehow; her friendly efficiency seems to leave little room for conversation, but she has been fitting me for the gown for Hux’s party, and we have had more time together.

“Almost my whole life,” she says. “And wouldn’t you like to know how long that is?”

“I would never pry,” I say, smiling. “But the First Order hasn’t been around very long. Where did you work before —”

I start to gesture to indicate _all this?_ , and she amiably slaps my shoulder. “Don’t move! Unless you want to be a pincushion!”

“I’m never going to unravel your mystery, Madame Sten,” I say. “What if I were to tell you one of my secrets in exchange for one of yours?”

She tugs an errant length of fabric back into place. “What use would I have for your stories?” she says. “My own keep me entertained enough.”

She places a few more pins and then, as if offhand, says, “I am happy to be making gowns for a lady again. The Supreme Leader has particular tastes, but they’re quite monotonous to execute.”

She makes Kylo Ren’s clothes, too, then. Of course.

“You used to make gowns?” I ask. “For whom?”

She goes on as if she hasn't heard me. “Although much of that work was maintenance — repairing the trim on ceremonial gowns and such. It was when she was no longer queen, when she became a senator that I truly was allowed to use my talent.”

 _A queen? A senator?_ I stay silent, not wanting to break into Madame Sten’s narrative.

“I will never forget when she came to me, whispering, so radiant. She was getting married, she told me, but it was a secret. I must make her a gown, all white, all lace.” She smiles wistfully.

Her accent — I recognize it now. That beautiful soft lilt. My friend Asha, of the tiny feet, had spoken with it. My friend Asha from —

“Naboo?” I say. “Madame Sten, are you from Naboo?”

She nods slightly.

“Does the Supreme Leader know?”

Unexpectedly, she laughs, heartily. “You child, the Supreme Leader knows everything he wants to know. Yes, he knows.”

Revelations are flooding to my mind along with blood to my cheeks. My face is hot. “Then you knew her?” I say in a loud whisper. “Padmé Amidala? Ben’s grandmother?”

In my rush of excitement, I’ve used the wrong name for the Supreme Leader, and my face begins to burn even hotter.

But Madame Sten pretends she hasn’t noticed. “Yes, and his grandfather too. That is why he sought me out.”

“You were a handmaiden,” I say. “One of the Queen of Naboo’s handmaidens.”

I am wiggling too much for her to continue pinning. “Madame Sten, I grew up idolizing Senator Amidala! I didn’t know what she was to Luke and Leia then, none of us did, but I learned her Senate speeches when I was at the Temple, and —”

I catch myself. I’ve said too much, given away my past. Madame Sten takes my hand in hers and pats it.

“Child, don’t worry. I haven’t kept my position by telling tales. I feel that my own story is safe with you, though, even if you can’t keep from blurting out your own.”

“Not to anyone else,” I say. “Except General Hux, but that’s because —”

She raises both her hands. “Don’t tell me! I haven’t kept my position by knowing too much, either.”

I realize that I have been aching to tell someone else. My past is something that only Ben and I know entirely, and I’ve been afraid that it will slip away into the darkness if I don’t resist Kylo Ren.

Madame Sten begins marking the seams on the muslin I am wearing. “I will only say this — I have been around a long time, and I have seen what happens when powerful people keep secrets.”

I want to reply “But I’m not powerful,” but that is how I _feel_ , not reality. These weeks that I’ve spent honing my Force and combat skills with the Supreme Leader, discussing policy with High Command officers, sitting knee-to-knee with General Hux as I persuade him to bend the shape of his protocols — they are the steady accumulation of power, what others who watch me may call an insidious influence. And in three weeks there is going to be a party to cement me and all my power within the structure of this system that I hate.

“The Supreme Leader wanted me to know this,” I say. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had us meet.”

“You have known him longer than I have, Counselor,” she says, “so you know him best.”

 _I know him best._ I stand alone with this thought as she removes the drapery from me and my skin is left bare, still tingling from the flush of my dismay and realization and excitement. Madame Sten hands me my dressing gown.

“I will be back tomorrow with fabric swatches,” she says as she gathers up her tools, very efficient, very businesslike.

“Yes, thank you, Madame Sten,” I reply, in kind.

LZ-87 meets Madame Sten at my door and carries the bundle of fabric and her bag.

“Good evening, Mistress Miranda,” the droid says. “I hope you have a pleasant dinner with General Hux.”

I don’t inquire as to how a protocol droid knows my plans. It’s a good reminder that very little goes unnoticed on the star destroyer.

It is indeed time to dress for dinner. I go to my wardrobe and take out the dress with the cape. It is made of heavy matte crepe, a column of black that stops just below my knees, but the cape is lined with crimson silk. I haven’t yet worn it, and tonight I am indeed dining with Hux. Not in the officer’s hall, as usual, but in his quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So she’s gonna wear that dress, the one she teased Ben about, to her tryst with Hux. That’s a pretty passive aggressive bitch move.
> 
> I don’t know if it’s just me, but this relationship seems to be… unhealthy, yes?
> 
> Next chapter: Dinner with Hux.
> 
> oh shit


	12. Is It True That Devils End Up Like You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira and Ben are fighting again.  
> And then Mira and Hux are alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from "She's Your Cocaine" by Tori Amos.
> 
> (See endnotes for the link to the full playlist, which is always expanding.)

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 7, 36 ABY_**

Ben comes into my quarters while I am putting on my make-up. The same blood-red lips and lined eyes that had made Hux gulp when he saw me on the transport. He paces without speaking, draws off his gloves, as is his custom when he comes to my rooms, and lays them on a console table near the door.

“You’re anxious,” I say. “And angry.”

“I said I don’t want you to do this, Mira.”

“What _this_ , Ben? I’m only having dinner with him.”

“You know that isn’t what this is. You’ve had dinner with him three times already this week — in the dining hall. Every time, I can feel his intentions, I can feel it when he _touches_ you.” He stops pacing and stands between me and my mirror. “And I can feel that you don’t entirely _dislike it_ when he touches you.”

“That’s not fair,” I say, continuing to arrange my hair as if he isn’t blocking my reflection. “I told you about my weakness for tall gingers.”

He slams his fist down on my dressing table and then sweeps everything from its surface onto the floor, perfume bottles, my cup of tea, a container that sends up a puff of face powder.

I stop what I am doing and stare at him. “You’re a child,” I say.

“And what are you? You’re enjoying this! What does that make you?” he spits.

“What you wanted me to be.”

I decide I will wear my hair down, and I stand. Ben doesn’t move out of my way.

“Have that all cleaned up, will you?” I say as I step around him.

“What are you planning?” he calls after me as I walk through the room. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m planning to find out how to save your damned life.”

I sit down to put on my shoes. Ben stalks into the room and, after hovering over me, kneels in front of me. “I told you, my life isn’t worth _this_.”

“It is to me. And you told me you would leave what I do up to me. I’ve decided what it’s going to take, and I am going to do it.”

“Don’t,” he says.

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m not some precious virginal apparition to keep unsullied,” I say, deliberately sneering at him about the girl. “I’m going to save your life whether you want it or not.”

He lunges at me, wrapping his arms around my knees, burying his face in my lap. His breath is hot through the fabric of my dress. I lean over him, my cheek on the top of his head.

“Trust me, Ben,” I whisper. “This won’t change anything between us. How could it? We’re more than that, aren’t we?”

“Are we.” He’s turned his head, but his voice is still muffled as he speaks in his flat Kylo Ren intonation.

“Ben…” And then I understand. “Ben, when I asked you, back in my bungalow — and I said I had never been with another Force sensitive person — I didn’t realize….” _Oh, Ben_. “It’s _different_. It’s so much more than what it is with anyone else. And with us — it’s not even when you’re… when you’re _you_. If it were….”

He draws away and looks up at me, his eyes shiny. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths, and then he stands. He straightens his tunic as he crosses to the console table to retrieve his gloves.

“I’m sorry about your things,” he says. “I’ll have it cleaned up and everything replaced.”

I nod, holding in tears. He has retreated into Kylo Ren once again. I have an idea, and I run into my bedroom. I find a pair of gloves that Madame Sten made for me — thin black leather gloves that end above my elbows, where they buckle in place.

“Look,” I say, tugging one on. “I’m going to wear these. So you don’t have to feel me touch him. _If_ I do.”

“You’re going to tear them, putting them on like that.” He takes the glove from me and then slides it gently over each finger, pulls it over the length of my arm, and then cinches the buckle closed. He repeats it with the other glove, but his touch lingers after he has fastened that one. We look into each other’s eyes like two warriors on the battlefield, assured that we are fighting together.

We walk to our level’s turbolift together, and then cross through corridors to the officer’s lift. We are arm-in-arm, as we have never been seen before, and officers’ and stormtroopers’ gazes follow us as we pass. The cape of my dress billows behind me and our footsteps ring on the floor together.

When we part at the turbolift doors, it is with set jaws and stern expressions, but our hands meet and close around each other. The leather of our gloves is nothing against the Force flowing through both of us.

And then I step back into the lift and the doors close between us.

* * *

Hux’s quarters are not what I expected. He is all First Order severity outside of them, and I expected more of the same in his private rooms. And while there are all the same outlines of First Order rooms — angular walls and shiny black floors, there’s also warmer lighting than usual, a tufted ice blue velvet Chesterfield, a glass table set with delicate china and silver serving dishes, and slipper dining chairs with black suede upholstery.

Hux himself is full of nervous energy, more formal in his manners and address than he has been with me in some time. He welcomes me in and orders drinks for both of us. To be honest, my stomach is full of drunk butterflies and my mind is screaming _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh Suns what have I gotten myself into_ , but I force myself to be composed, as if nothing at all is happening. I sit down and take the glass from the porter droid.

Hux sinks down next to me, folding his long legs like an ungainly waterfowl. I can pick out the freckles on his cheeks, the flecks of gold in his eyes, the abrupt pink curve of his upper lip.

“Is it — is it _safe_?” he whispers.

I nod. “I’ve been building up my defenses all day. I told the Supreme Leader we are discussing protocol for when I meet the stormtroopers.”

“Meeting the stormtroopers?” Hux looks confused. “But I haven’t agreed — ah, but aren’t you clever.”

“I warn you now, Armitage,” I say. “I usually get what I want.”

His eyes light up with lust.

“Anyway, he’s been so busy lately with the—” I try to shake the images from my mind, but I can’t — “the uprising on Lothal that he hasn’t been as vigilant as usual.”

“Is it very difficult?” he asks. “Being… what you are to him?”

I take a long drink from my glass and then set it down. “A Jedi learns how to compartmentalize,” I say, keeping my face mild, though I feel Hux’s lust as he imagines having me as the Supreme Leader does. There is something else behind his hatred of Kylo Ren, I’ve sensed several times. A prurient fascination, an obsession that disgusts him.

He puts his hand — ungloved — on my knee and leans toward me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t help it. Surely you’ve felt it — you feel everything around you. But the first time I saw you on that holocall, when the — when _he_ had me call you, I understood. Why he wanted you.”

His other hand is around my waist now, and his face is taking on the expression of a desperate man. I put my gloved hand on his cheek and he closes his eyes and shudders.

“Armitage,” I say. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

He opens his eyes and blinks. “Yes. Of course. Yes. Please —”

He takes my hand as we rise, and I avert my eyes from the evidence of his desperation in the front of his trousers. True Imperial that he is, he pulls my chair out for me to sit, offers me the dishes to serve myself from, pours my wine. There are puffs of pastry stuffed with mushrooms, and a rich potato soup, a salad dotted with dried fruit like jewels, and some kind of delicate fish in a butter sauce, with vegetables and crusty white bread.

We eat without saying very much, the ease that has developed between us over the past few weeks replaced with nervous tension. He seems to study me, watching my hand as I hold my fork, my lips as I sip the wine.

“Did you plan this all for me?” I ask as I set my napkin on the table after taking the final bite. “It bodes well for our party. You’ll have to send me the guest list so I can familiarize myself with everyone ahead of time.”

But I see that small talk is not going to keep him at bay tonight.

“We have so little time alone, without being looked in on,” he says. “Let’s not talk about things we can say in front of anyone.”

“All right, Armitage. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk at all.”

He leans toward me and grasps both of my hands. His are trembling, ever so slightly, as he looks up at me with hopeful eyes.

“Do you really — is this really what you want? I don’t want to presume that just because you accepted my invitation, because you’re here —”

I am oddly touched. I hadn’t expected tenderness from Armitage Hux. He orchestrated his father’s murder, Ben told me. He has ordered the execution of whole populations. And yet here he entreating, asking permission.

“Yes,” I say, and I barely have time to finish the word before he is leaning into me, his mouth on mine, his hand sliding beneath my skirt and up my thigh, and my mind is reeling. _This is really happening._

If it is, I might as well not dwell on my revulsion of who he is, I decide. I can regard Hux as a man who is almost worshipful of me, another man whose body I can enjoy, who can enjoy mine. So I return his kiss, truly closing my mind to Ben now, despite what it will do to him. When we break away, he is panting, his mouth smeared with my lipstick.

“Wait,” I say.

“ _Wait_ , she says,” he groans.

I laugh. “It’s only that I’ve brought dessert for us. Look.” I open my small clutch bag and pull out a foil packet.

“What is that?”

“Something from Gaia,” I say, unwrapping it. “Chocolate.”

“Chocolate.”

“And a little something more, infused in it. Like the hashish, but not as strong.”

“Nothing that will make me disgrace myself and pass out on the sofa.” Hux smiles.

“No, not at all. Not that you have ever disgraced yourself.” I break a piece of the chocolate off and hold it up. “Now, do you want it?”

I place it in his proffered mouth, and pop another piece into mine.

“Let it melt slowly,” I say, before standing and drawing him to his feet.

He leans down and kisses me again, holding me tightly against himself, his tongue probing my mouth open, his hardness insistent and throbbing on my hip. We both taste of the chocolate and smile at each other through the kiss, and then, unexpectedly, he lifts me into his arms. My defenses prick up for a second, and I have to suppress my instinct to smash the heel of my hand into his throat.

“What are you doing?” I ask instead.

“The first time I saw you in person, when I got off the transport, I had an overwhelming urge to sweep you up and carry you back with me. To leave _him_ there in that field and have you to myself.”

“Did you really? Or do you say that to all the girls?” I find, irritatingly, that I am having fun in a way I never do with Ben.

“There’s no time for girls in the First Order,” he says. “Only — well, they’re not worth mentioning.”

I get an unpleasant twinge about what he means. “Well, never mind that. You have time for one now, don’t you? Or are we just going to stay here like this?”

I glance around the room, and with my free hand, I gesture to the double doors on the far wall and they swing open. Hux’s laugh is the delighted one of a child at a circus.

“The Force has its uses, you see,”I say.

He carries me into his bedroom and lays me on his bed. His mouth is at my neck, hot and gentle — no nips and bites as with Ben, no hands pressing my wrists down into the bed. He unfasten the cape from my dress and finds the zipper hidden under it. He smiles as he slides the dress from my body, though his mouth slackens briefly when he sees the rings of teeth marks on my shoulders, a huge welt left by a sparring sword blow on my thigh, the bruises in the shape of fingers on my upper arms.

“You should see the other guy,” I say.

He gives a little sniff of understanding and resumes stroking my skin, letting his fingers linger at my throat, tracing a line between my breasts. I look at him, still so formal in his uniform, and suddenly I desperately want to see him without it. My fingers have grown adept and finding the fastenings in First Order garments, and I make quick work of his tunic. I pull it from his shoulders and then, more slowly, I unbutton his shirt, revealing the light sprinkling of ginger hair on his chest, a body leaner than I imagined, his skin very smooth.

“Armitage,” I whisper. “Do you have — I didn’t bring anything.”

I am on contraceptives, of course, but realize with a sudden shudder that I can’t allow him inside me bare, can’t allow him to spend himself in me. Besides, who knows what he might have picked up from whoever is “not worth mentioning.”

“Yes, yes,” he says, breathless. “Don’t worry.” He goes to a table next to the bed and rummages in the drawer before drawing out a packet and dropping it on the bed.

I sit up to unfasten my underclothes, but he stops me. “Let me,’ he says. He unhooks my bra with deliberate slowness, slides if off over my shoulders. He breathes in appreciatively and cups each breast, proceeding with almost methodical precision.

He begins to unfasten his trousers, and I help him, letting my hands, still in their gloves, linger on his hip bones, before sliding them down to the center of his desire. He groans again at my touch and begins to unclasp the buckle on my glove. I shake my head.

“Leave them, please,” I say, and his face lights up with an understanding of something I did not intend. It will do, though.

His weight is on me, and, guiltily, I find my legs opening to him. He tugs down my underwear and he presses his hand between my legs, spreading the lips to find me wet and swollen and willing.

“My gods,” he says in wonder. “You do really want me? This isn’t some kind of —”

“Jedi mind trick?” I say, laughing. “No, Armitage.”

As if to reassure him, I take the condom from its packet, then grip his cock to slide it over him. He shudders.

“You must forgive me if I am not… satisfactory,” he says. “I have wanted you for so long and —” His body bucks as I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him closer.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “We can practice until we get it right.”

He is in me with a thrust that makes me draw in my breath.

He grips the headboard as he moves in me, his face lost in a kind of ecstasy. My body, my traitorous body, rises to meet his. My hands are on his back, my legs twined around his hips.

“Armitage,” I breathe. “You understand, don’t you? What I am risking to be with you like this?”

“Yes,” he says, looking down at me.

“If it comes to it, will you protect me?”

He thrusts once again, holding his cock deep inside me. I suck in my breath.

“You don’t need me for that,” he says, but then his voice falters. He lets go of the headboard and his mouth is on my mouth, on my neck, on my breasts. His cock is insistent; it forces me back into the moment, into feeling his body on and inside of me. There is no use pretending I’m not enjoying it.

He brushes my hair off my face and watches me as I come, his expression almost one of awe, as if he had not expected himself capable of giving me pleasure.

 _Poor, poor Hux_ , I think as my orgasm settles into a slow pulsing, as my writhing brings him to climax, his face buried in my neck as he moans.

 _Poor Hux_.

* * *

“Do you have to go?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I say. “How long is dinner supposed to last? I can’t risk staying longer.”

He is lying with his head on my bare breasts, and the intimacy of it is starting to bring back the revulsion of who he is, of what I’ve done. The cannabis-laced chocolate has heightened my senses — every detail feels like something I can sink into and study forever, every new nuance a recrimination.

There are freckles dusting Hux’s shoulders and his arm that is draped around me, stark against his flushed pink skin. He takes a deep breath in, and I can feel him debating internally.

“If you are truly afraid, there are other ways, I’ve heard, that you can keep him from finding out.”

My senses prick at this. “Other ways?” I say.

“Yes, but the drawback is that you’ll forget.”

“Forget what?”

“The last couple of hours — everything after you arrived at my quarters. Your memory of it can be erased. He can’t find what isn’t there, you see.”

“Is it some kind of… mind wipe?” I ask. I’ve heard of such things, from the days of the Sith.

“No, nothing so esoteric,” he says. “A drug.”

“Have you done this? Taken the drug and wiped out memories?”

He sighs, preparing to evade my question. “I’ve considered that I may have to take it so that he can’t take this memory from me. But… I don’t think I can bring myself to it.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I can keep him out.”

“Are you sure? You seemed so afraid when we were —”

“A woman is allowed weakness in such moments, Armitage,” I scoff, gently sliding him off of me and sitting up.

“Well, yes, it was all rather….” He sits up, too, and slicks his hair back into place. “I confess, I usually find it so damnably awkward. A necessary absurdity, almost. Nothing to be repeated with the same person, certainly. Once they’ve seen me like that, I am repulsed by them. Which is why I resisted my desire for you for so long.”

How long is Armitage Hux accustomed to waiting before getting what he wants? I wonder. I have been on the _Finalizer_ for two months.

“Please, no,” he says, seeing my expression. “I mean to say that it’s not the case with you. I feel strangely at ease with you. And this — it has only made me want you more.”

“ _She makes hungry where she most satisfies_ ,” I say.

“What is that?”

“Something from Gaia. From a play about a queen.” I occupy myself with retrieving my clothes for a moment, and then I smirk at him. “Perhaps,” I say slowly, “this is not our first time.”

“What?”

“Well, maybe we’ve done this before, and taken the drug, and we’ve done it again and again, and each time it’s as if we’ve drunk from Lethe and are going into the Underworld for the first time.”

“Drunk from what?”

“It’s another story from Gaia. Lethe is the river the dead drink from when they cross into the Underworld so that they forget their lives.”

He blinks at me. “My gods, it’s entirely possible that we have —”

I interrupt him with my laughter. “No, no! Suns, Armitage, you must be so stoned right now to believe that!”

“Stoned? Oh, the chocolate.” He finds his shirt and pulls it on, then absently comes to help me with my zipper. “No, you see, the drug works in such a way that even the memory of having taken it doesn’t remain. Or so I’ve heard.”

“So you’ve heard.”

“Yes.”

 _Here is something to investigate, then,_ I think.

Hux and I finish dressing, and in a few minutes we are the two perfectly composed First Order colleagues that we were when I entered his quarters. Well, except that we are both slightly swaying and heavy-lidded under the effects of the cannabis.

“Well,” I say. “Good night, Armitage.”

“What do you take me for?” he says, honestly perplexed. “I’ll walk you to the turbolift.”

Before we leave his room, he takes my gloved hand and draws it to his lips. “I had a wonderful evening. Will we be able to meet again, do you think?”

“We’ll have to see what happens next before I can say.”

He nods, grimly. We walk to the turbolift, passing several officers who stand at attention as he passes while both of us suppress stoned giggles. We part with a formal touch of hands.

As soon as the doors close, I do laugh. A success, despite everything. I have information to bring the Supreme Leader.

I let down my defenses. And instantly I feel Ben — in a state of distress that overwhelms me just in sensing it. The lift seems to spin, almost sending me to the floor.

I manage to get off the turbolift before I vomit into the perfect, shiny cube of a First Order garbage bin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> There was a Twitter Moment a while back about people reassessing their opinions of _The Last Jedi_ after re-watching it. They picked up on nuance in storytelling and symbolism. Me? I picked up on why some people have Many Thoughts about Hux. He’s so eager to please! So what if he’s not terribly imaginative? He gets the job done. And, you know, if you’re going to fuck a homicidal maniac, you might as well have fun with it, I guess?  
>  So, lit nerds: Mira has alluded to the New Testament, quoted Shakespeare, and of course she has to get a Greek mythology reference in there too. (We’re all onboard with Hades and Persephone metas, right?)
> 
> I’m obsessed with how the First Order is so committed to its aesthetic that even its waste paper baskets are perfectly shiny black-and-chrome cubes.
> 
> Next chapter: Ben is brooding in his room.


	13. Only You Exist Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having done the deed with Hux, Mira must face Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “In Your Room” by Depeche Mode.

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 7, 36 ABY_**

Curious stormtroopers pause to consider what they should do as I lean, retching, over the bin.

“Ma’am?” one says, hovering over my shoulder as I try to recover and compose myself. “Counselor Galan, are you ill? Should I call a medic?”

I press the back of my hand to my mouth and look up into the blank black and white of his helmet. “No, thank you. I’ll be all right. I just need to get to my quarters.”

“Let me help you to the turbolift, ma’am.” The helmet distorts his voice, but the way he speaks, the chivalric way he offers his arm, reminds me of country boys back on Gaia — good manners and good times.

I nod and put my hand on the molded plastoid of his armor.

“General Hux will have to take this up with his chef,” the stormtrooper says as we walk.

I’m surprised that he’s talking to me at all. “His chef?”

“Yes, if the food you ate made you sick, ma’am.”

“How did you know I ate with General Hux?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It was out of line for me to speak to you so personally.”

I smile at him. “It’s all right. Of course you know I had dinner with General Hux. It wasn’t a secret.”

He seems bolstered by this. “Ma’am, if I may ask…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve heard that you’re working with General Hux to reform the stormtrooper program, to make it more effective. That you have experience with combat training. Is that true?”

“Yes, it is.” _True enough, anyway_. “Why?”

“We all wish you success, ma’am. All of the troopers.”

I’m momentarily taken off guard. It has been so easy to think of the stormtroopers as toy soldiers, not real men and women who have their own lives. I’m ashamed of myself.

“Thank you,” I finally say. “What is your designation?”

“LX-6492, ma’am.”

“That’s very good of you to tell me, LX-6492.”

We’re at the turbolift doors, and I have just enough time to thank him again before he nods and returns to his unit.

As soon as I step off on our level, Ben is calling me through the Force, ordering me to his quarters.

 _Wait_ , I tell him, and go to my room to brush my teeth in the fresher, to strip off my clothes and step into the sonic shower. I put on a pair of black silk pajamas, a long dressing gown, and my slippers to go to Ben’s quarters.

He is waiting on one of his big square chairs, elbows on his knees, staring into the reflective surface of the coffee table in front of him. His eyes, when he raises them to me, are red-rimmed. His hands clutch his arms, and I can see where his fingernails have dug into his skin. He is barefoot and shirtless, and I want to run to him and cup his face in my hands and kiss away what is hurting him, but then he speaks, and he is Kylo Ren.

“What do you have to tell me,” he says.

“I learned something,” I say.

“Well?” He leans back and looks at me steadily. “Don’t just hover near the doorway. Sit down.”

I do. The hair on my arms and the back of neck is standing up. _Danger_ , my body tells me. _You in danger, girl_ , the Force says, my brain rather inappropriately translating it into a pop culture meme from Gaia.

I fold my hands on my lap. I sense his eyes roving over me as wonders — _Did he touch her there? Or there? Did she kiss him or did he kiss her? Did she let him fuck her?_ I put that aside and tell him about the memory wiping drug. He watches me impassively.

“Don’t you see?” I say. “The drug can be a means of perpetuating a plot without the conspirators having any memory of it. One person sets into motion, passes it to the next person to take the next step, takes the drug, and then it repeats. It explains why you know Hux’s intentions but not his actions. I have to find out the chain of command. Hux is at the top, obviously, and I suspect it’s going to be left to someone with little power to undertake the final step. So it can be explained as a breakdown in training, like with FN-2187.”

Ben clenches and unclenches his hands. He looks away from me and back at the shiny surface of the table.

“So you were right,” he says.

“No, _you_ were right — you suspected Hux in the first place.”

“I mean that you were right about needing to do… _that_.” He licks his parched lips. “ _If_ you did that. You’ve gotten good at closing your mind to me. Almost as good as —”

He breaks off, but I know he is thinking of her, the girl.

“We _agreed_ ,” I say. “When you put me on that turbolift, don’t tell me you didn’t know what might happen.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you want me to tell you?” I ask.

He stands and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” He paces. “I could take it from you, I could just —”

I feel his presence in my mind, a sharp spear cleaving it open, but just as abruptly withdrawing.

“ _I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, MIRA,_ ” he yells. He picks up the iron teapot from his table and smashes it into the wall. The inkwell next to it tips and red ink spills across the table and drips onto the floor.

He is afraid. Afraid of what his own pain means. I sit meekly, looking at my hands, as if chastened but really holding in my own rage, my own fear.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that. Don’t be afraid of me again. You were right.”

I shake my head. “I was wrong to ever stop being afraid of you.”

“No,” he says, and he sits back down in the chair. “No, no, _no_. I’m not that. I’m not fucking… _Snoke_.”

“You’re the Supreme Leader,” I say.

He holds his head in his hands and lets out a howl that makes me wince. It as if his heart is being torn from him. And now I am the one at his feet, my arms around his knees.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “Forgive me.”

“What is there to forgive?” he snarls. “You never made me any promises. And I’m the one who — I’m the one who should be begging for forgiveness.”

The silence hangs in the air between us as I look up at him.

“But you’re not,” I say.

“No.”

I sit back on my heels, letting go of his legs. Something in me wants to taunt him, wants to tell him about Hux’s hands on my body and the way I made Hux’s body quiver and Hux’s cock deep inside me.

There it is, that Dark Side anger, that desire to inflict pain. The more I hurt him, the farther into the Dark Side he’ll fall. I can make him irredeemable. His girl, the one he longs for and cannot find, the one who is pure and untouched and not a whore like me, will never want him. But I will lose myself, too, if I do it.

And yet, we would be together. We would be locked together in the pain we cause each other, in the pleasure of the Force bringing together our bodies. This passes between us in an instant.

“Why do you fight your own power?” he asks me. “You could be so much more if you only embraced it. Hurt me, if you want to. I deserve it.”

“No.”

We are at an impasse. We stare at each other. His resistance to the light, mine to the dark — at the moment they are perfectly balanced. It is as if there are shields around each of us that the other cannot pass through.

But then he breaks. He slides off the chair onto the floor with me and puts his arms around my waist. I lean over him, my cheek on his bare, broad shoulder. And then he is kissing the tears on my cheeks, kissing me with the taste of salt on his lips. Kissing me — for the first time — as Ben Solo.

At some point, he carries me to his bedroom, which I’ve never been in before. His bed is wide and firm and cool to the touch. We sleep. Our bodies cupped together, our hands interlaced, his breath on my neck, his nose nuzzling my hair.

I am aware of his dreams somehow as I dream, and they mingle in a confusing tangle of images and sensations — the Temple library, our hands; Chewie crying out, a blast of pain in my side; the kindly archivist Lor San Tekka falling under Kylo Ren’s blade; lines of blood blooming on my arms, and his; the twin suns of Tatooine; Leia lifting away her hood as she enters my little house on Tatooine, her face grave and gaunt; Leia again, on the Resistance’s flagship, Ben’s finger hesitating over the launch button for the missile that would destroy it — and her.

I wake, sweating, and turn to find Ben also awake, also troubled. He reaches out, and, his hand seems to engulf my cheek. His fingers rest on my temple, his thumb on my lips.

“You chose not to do it, Ben.”

“I was weak.”

“No, that’s just it, don’t you see? You were strong. You resisted what Snoke would have turned you into. You killed _him_ , not your mother, Ben, and when you did it, it wasn’t because you were thinking about taking his place.”

“No.”

“You were thinking about _her.”_

I see her more clearly now, her fresh, open face, the steely strength in her eyes. And her tears, too.

_Oh, Ben. All the girls have always cried over you._

“She doesn’t matter now,” he says.

I shake my head. “You know that’s not true.”

He puts his arms around me and pulls me to him. My cheek is on his bare chest, rising and falling with his breath. I trace the jagged scar across his shoulder. The bites and scratches and bruises I’ve left on his body are so meager compared to this — her effect on him, permanently etched into his skin.

He doesn’t want what she offers him right now. A chance to turn, to embrace the light. He has me in his arms instead — and I am melting into his darkness. Not the darkness of Kylo Ren, not the murderous legacy of Snoke. The darkness in Ben Solo — the darkness that was always in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [MST3K voice] They’re fighting again. [/MST3K]  
> I know this is a shorter-than usual chapter, sorry! It just didn’t want to be any longer.  
> Right now, I’m thinking of Mira as kind of a Vashti figure. Vashti was the first wife of King Xerxes, banished when she wouldn’t obey him and allow a bunch of his drunk friends to gawk at her. Esther replaced her and, Rey-like, became the savior of her people, but I’ve always had respect for Vashti. When I was a kid, I had a comic book version of the book of Esther, and the panel with Vashti standing very proud and telling a servant disdainfully, “Tell the king I will not be gazed upon by a group of drunken men!” made a big impression.
> 
> Mira isn't one to let subtext stay sub, so she's brought the virgin/whore dichotomy right out in the last chapter and this one, too. I want to make both sides of that dichotomy represent a different kind of power, rather than an ideal and a fallen state.
> 
> Next chapter: A really annoying rumor.


	14. You Don't, Don't Really Mean It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors. Memories of a Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Spark" by Tori Amos.

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 7, 36 ABY_**

“There are rumors, ma’am,” Petra says as she comes into my office, before she even sits down.

My stomach lurches. But Petra’s expression has none of the alarm that it would have if the rumors were about Hux and me. Instead, she almost has a secretive smile on her lips, and her gray eyes are as playful as a First Order officer’s get while on duty.

“What rumors?” I ask, my mouth dry.

Petra goes to the bar in my office and pours me a glass of water. I try not to drink it all at once.

“The gossip is, Miranda, that you’re carrying the Supreme Leader’s child.”

I am stunned silent momentarily. _Of course_. How many stormtroopers saw me lose my dinner into some poor desk officer’s waste bin? I sit down on my couch.

“Is it true?” she asks.

What is that tone? Is she _hopeful_?

“Suns, no!” I say. “I know how this started. The drinks General Hux served at dinner were stronger than I’m used to, and then the turbo lift made me dizzy, and then, well…..”

“Oh, I see. I’ll make sure to put an end to that talk when I hear it, then.”

“Petra, are you _disappointed_?”

She looks guilty. “I think the troops are looking for something to celebrate, ma’am. The kind way you treated—” she checks her datapad—“LX-6492 has been much discussed. You were a favorite with the troops already —”

“Wait, what? How could I be? Aren’t these the same people who just weeks ago thought I was a prostitute? I haven’t — Oh! The reforms,” I say.

“Yes, exactly, ma’am. Your influence on General Hux has been noted, and there are hopes that it might result in… well, _changes_.

“I’m afraid the mood is rather fractious at the moment, with troopers taking sides between the Supreme Leader and General Hux. Your presence has swung the favor to the Supreme Leader of late. And especially after you two were seen walking arm-in-arm —”

“Oh!” I interrupt. I motion Petra to sit with me. “Of course. I swear, everyone here watches every detail like haruspices picking over entrails. We have to start getting ahead of stories, Petra. Who knows what would have happened if I wore flat-soled shoes today, or requested milk with breakfast instead of tea!”

She smiles. “The uprisings have been slowing of late. The troops have more time to fraternize. They’re a bit restless, so they’re quick to seize on anything tantalizing. And like I said, they’re looking for a reason to celebrate.”

I consider this. “Armitage should do something nice for them,” I say, almost to myself. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Very good, ma’am.” She taps at her datapad, moving to the next item for discussion.

“Would it really be such a cause for celebration?” I ask. “A baby, I mean. A child.”

“From my experience, it usually is.”

“Of course — but I mean that child in particular. The Supreme Leader’s. And mine.”

“It would mean more security in matters of succession. Less uncertainty about the future.”

“I see.”

She watches me for a moment. “Of course it’s nobody’s business if you — you and the Supreme Leader —”

“I don’t know that it isn’t, when you put it that way. It’s so strange — all the people who see their futures tied to what are usually such private matters.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You were raised in the First Order, yes?”

“Yes, my great-aunt was Grand Admiral Rae Sloane. I was born in the Unknown Regions, where General Hux grew up. My aunt knew him when he was a child.”

“Ah, of course! I’ve read about it. I’m surprised General Hux has never mentioned it.”

“Well, speaking of General Hux,” she says, sidestepping the matter, “he sent a guest list for the reception down the chain of command, and I am tasked with compiling briefing notes on everyone. I’ll have that for you tomorrow.”

Ah, Hux. Ever-attentive to duty.

After Petra leaves, I stand and begin pacing my office. I want to talk to laugh about the pregnancy rumors, and, maddeningly, Hux is the person I want to talk to. He’s the only one who will commiserate with absurdity of it all. I consider, though, that he may take me getting sick after eating as a reason to execute the chef. I do laugh now, and I’m horrified at myself.

_— What’s funny._

It’s Ben, in his office.

_— Wouldn’t you like to know?_

— _Mira…. Please, will you come here?_

The adjoining door opens before I even reach it. Ben is standing at the large bay window, with his back to it.

“You’ve heard the rumors, I take it,” he says. He is trying to keep his face from being grim.

“Officer Sloane is taking care of correcting it,” I say.

“Are you feeling better? Last night — I didn’t know —”

“I’m fine.”

He nods, but his hands are clasped tightly behind his back, and his full lips are pressed tightly together.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks.

“What? No —”

“Is that why you were ill?”

“No, Ben, he didn’t hurt me.”

He blinks quickly and then nods again. “Just as long as — as he didn’t do anything to you that — that you didn’t want.” He labors over his words, pain in every syllable.

I approach him slowly, as if he is a wounded animal. “No,” I say. “He _couldn’t_ have done anything that I didn’t let him do.” I laugh. “Hux’s face just seems made to be slammed into floors, doesn’t it?”

He doesn’t laugh with me, so I take his hand in mine.

“You act as if nothing has happened,” he says, “but you’re feeling more than you’re showing.”

“You’re right,” I say. “It’s just that I don’t understand. I can’t work it out.” I close the space between us. “What is it that I’m feeling?”

He searches my face. “Conflict,” he says. “Desire. Revulsion.” He leans closer. A slant of light from the window catches his eyes, illuminating the brown into gold. “Vanity.”

He draws me to him, still studying my face.

“You’re feeling your own power,” he says. “Finally.”

* * *

I stay in his office for the rest of the day. We talk about Hux’s training programs as we watch stormtroopers drill below us. I speak of children ripped from their families, children subjected to brutality, of LX-6492’s concern for me.

“I felt a child’s desire to please,” I say. “I wonder how old he is, under that armor. He wanted a kind word, a kind look. I gave him that, and now Officer Sloane says the troopers are uniting in your favor. If we strengthen our image as being united and get reforms put through in the stormtrooper program, Hux’s influence among the troops will be weakened.”

I remember something suddenly. “Do you know about the handmaidens of the Queen of Naboo?” I ask.

“You’ve been talking to Madame Sten, then.”

“Yes. I was elated — someone who knew Senator Amidala! And so intimately, too. And that’s my point. The handmaidens are sworn to be loyal to their Queen. They will protect her, serve her, die for her. But not because they have been threatened and beaten and mind-warped into it. Because they _love_ her. Everyone fears Hux. They fear his unpredictability, his viciousness. We have to give them an alternative.”

He frowns. “You’re looking at this as palace intrigue, Mira. What about the objectives of the First Order?”

“What about them?” I ask. “Do we even know what they are? You say you want a civilian government — that means civilian oversight of the military. You’re not going to get that while Hux is wielding power. If we can take that from him, we can change things for the better.”

“You’re being sentimental,” he says. “What happened to us as children should have no bearing on the future of the First Order.”

“Yes, it should. And, yes, I am. Think about where our teachers failed us. We have these _emotions_ , Ben. Both of us — that anger that we were taught to push down, to suppress. We were told that we should rid ourselves of something that is _part of us_ — instead of learning to understand it. And then — with Snoke, he wanted you to get rid of everything _but_ that darkness.

“The programs are designed to strip children of everything but their loyalty to the First Order. But the children grow up, and they’re still looking for something to give them what the First Order can’t.”

All the time as we speak, it’s hanging between us — the rumor of a child of our own, and everything such a child would mean. Ben is the first to address it.

“You wanted to laugh about it,” he says. “With Hux.”

“Well, why not? It’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

His tone surprises me. When I look at him, his jaw is clenched.

“Ben, I just got here. There’s still so much to do.” I fold my hands in my lap. “Besides, you know I’m not the endgame for you. I’m not the one.”

“I’ve told you,” he says, his words brimming with pain. “She doesn’t want me.”

I nod and put my hands on my lap.

“You said you do. Do you still?” he asks.

“Oh, Ben. Of course I do.”

He pushes out his lower lip, as he does so often when he is in thought. “Then you’re right. Snoke hid from everyone and left it to Hux to be the face of the First Order. That has to change.” He nods to himself as he becomes more sure. “ _We_ have to be its face. The two of us. They have to see us as one. A united front.”

The drunk butterflies are in my stomach once again. “Publicly?” I ask. “I don’t mind being seen here, on the _Finalizer_ , as someone who influences things, but what are you saying? You’re the Supreme Leader. There is only one Supreme Leader.”

“They’re never going to love me. The people, I mean. Not just the stormtroopers and officers,” he says. “Not with everything I’ve done. But you? You, they can love. And if they believe that you love _me….”_

“I see,” I say.

“Would it be so hard for you to pretend?”

“No. Not hard at all.” I swallow. “Dangerous, certainly.”

“Consider it,” he says.

I nod.

“But in the meantime, don’t let your influence with Hux weaken.”

“Ben, those are contradictory orders.”

“They’re not orders.” He rises from the chair where he’s been sitting across from me and goes to the large window. “Does—”

He breaks off, and his emotions roil, hot and churning — running into each other and overlapping in a chaos of noise.

“Does being with him,” he says, as if forcing the words out, “lessen your regard for me?”

“No, Ben,” I whisper.

“I can hear you laugh sometimes when you’re with him.”

“He’s _Hux._ He’s made me laugh ever since _you_ sent him simpering my way. This really is all _your_ fault, Ben Solo,” I say.

He ducks his head and nods, and when he looks up again, he’s smiling his father’s half-smile. It is like the light to me.

But still, for the rest of the day, I can’t seem to focus on our plans— our future. What my mind keeps returning to, again and again, is the fate of Ben’s grandmother, Padmé Amidala.

* * *

“Did she love him very much?” I ask Madame Sten later, when she comes with the fabric samples for my gown.

She doesn’t need to ask whom I mean. “Yes,” she says. “I never quite understood it. He was handsome, certainly, strong — brooding. You know the type,” she adds, with a little smile. “But to her, there was always something of the little boy he was when she first met him. ‘Hollé,’ she said to me, ‘he needs me so desperately. How can I refuse the love he needs?’”

I picture Padmé, only twenty-four years old, just a year older than Ben and I when he destroyed the Temple. By then she had ruled as Queen and served as Senator, but she was still a girl in love; fighting in the midst of a war, but still hopeful. Her position was so different from my own. What would she have me do?

What would Leia think if my face started appearing in the First Order’s propaganda vids? Would she understand what I was doing? Would she thank me for being a friend her son, as she did when I saw her last?

My history as a student at the Jedi Temple would come out. I would be seen as another example of Luke’s failure, another one lost to the Dark Side.

And the girl. I imagine her seeing a picture of Kylo Ren and me together and thinking that he is lost to the Dark forever, disdaining me for succumbing to what she was strong enough to resist.

“Is the Supreme Leader very like him?” I ask.

“Yes, he is,” she says, without hesitation. “I trust that you’re not asking about all this for a particular reason, Counselor? One that would affect the fit of your gown?”

I laugh. “Oh, Madame Sten! You haven’t been listening to gossip, have you?”

“Well, I thought it was just that, but one never knows.” She sighs with nostalgia. “The Senator and I almost thought of it like a game, you know, designing her gowns so they hid her pregnancy.

“I made the dress she was buried in. The other handmaidens and I embroidered it and sewed on every bead by hand. That’s how we knew that she wasn’t really still pregnant when she died. We made that dress for the first time she presented the baby — babies — in public. It wasn’t made to fit a pregnant woman in her ninth month. They used a hologram to make her look like the babies died with her.”

For a moment Madame Sten is lost in the past, her brown eyes far away. “It would be something to see another generation of the Naberrie-Organa line, Counselor. I don’t pretend that I wouldn’t celebrate that.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that today, Madame Sten.”

“Well, there’s time yet, isn’t there? No use putting children before the wedding, yes?”

I let out a choked cough. “Wedding?”

She looks abashed, an expression I  never expected to see on her face when we first met.

“I’m sorry, Counselor. I’m an old woman with old-fashioned ideas. I assure you I have never spoken about such matters between you and the Supreme Leader to anyone.”

“No need to reassure me, Madame Sten. I know you are the soul of discretion. I’ve realized there’s quite a bit more for me to think about than I thought, though.”

We decide on a velvet so dark red that it appears black, until light catches it and it glows like a garnet, for my gown, with dragons embroidered and beaded with jet on the hem. Fingerless black velvet gloves, also beaded, will go with it.

“Do you think you could persuade the Supreme Leader to have a new suit made?” she asks me. “I have some ideas.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this, I was thinking of the time I hurt my back and was on muscle relaxers at family gathering. I passed right out on my mom's couch and woke up listening to my family speculating about whether I was so tired because I was pregnant. RARGH
> 
> Mira is getting a little preoccupied with what Rey would think of her. I think anyone probably would too, if she were the Other Woman in Ben Solo's life.
> 
> Madame Sten refers to Ben as part of the Naberrie-Organa line because she comes from a culture that I believe is matrilineal (that of Naboo -- as well as that of Alderaan).
> 
> Next chapter: Meeting the troops.


	15. We're Different from the Clones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira and Hux review the troops. Mira sees the Dark Side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from “Clones” by Ash (a song about SW!).

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 8, 36 ABY_**

I haven’t heard from Hux for two days when Petra tells me he’s scheduled an appointment to see me. He arrives with a stiff, hesitant demeanor, but he relaxes somewhat when Petra leaves my office. We sit together on the sofa, just as we did the last time he was in here, but this time he looks at me with a gaze that is more than a little proprietary.

“Forgive me,” he says, “but are you well? You look pale.”

“I expect that living in space has done that. No sunshine in the _Finalizer_ to speak of.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. I just worried that perhaps there was some reason—“”

“Suns, Armitage, not you too! Haven’t those rumors dissipated yet? It’s your men gossiping — you should know better!”

“Ah. Well, then, I’ll certainly have to deal with the gossip, won’t I?”

He gets a sadistic, far-away look and I’m afraid to even guess at what he’s imagining. I instantly regret my words.

“Oh, come on now, Armitage, let the rank and file have their talk. Unit cohesion and all that.”

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Sometimes there are truths in these rumors,” he says. “But I’m relieved to hear that you’re not… indisposed.”

“Indisposed!” I fail to keep myself from snorting when I laugh. “To be honest — Armitage, when I heard, I wanted nothing more than to run to you and have a good laugh.”

“To me?” The same expression of wonder that he wore when we were in his bed is on his face.

“Well, who else am going to laugh about it with? The Supreme Leader?”

This brings a smile to Hux’s face. “Was he very disappointed?”

“Disappointed? Does the whole ship think I’m here to be a broodmare?”

“There was a slogan back in Imperial times: The Empire needs children.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“But true. Every society needs children to perpetuate itself.”

“Well not from me right now, anyway. I suppose I’ll have to wear skin-tight clothes for the duration to keep talk down.”

“What a shame,” Hux says, his eyebrows raising a few millimeters.

I laugh. Hux and I are leaning forward now, our knees touching. It is so damnably difficult to keep hold of the maniacal darkness that lurks behind his affable expression, his oh-so-ginger earnestness. He seems like any other man I have enjoyed laughing with and falling into bed with after an appropriate period of flirtation.

I make a note to tell Ben that I need to schedule a day to shadow Hux in his duties, to see the First Order general in him, the one who tears toddlers from their homes and sends children to die in battle. The one who was imagining what he might do to quell innocent rumors about me. But then, do I want to follow Ben on the missions he flies in his TIE Silencer or read the orders he gives to quell insurrections?

I am existing in a state of very tenuous plausible deniability.

Hux seems to remember himself and stops laughing with a glance at the adjoining door.

“He’s not in his office,” I say. “He’s in the training room. I ducked our session this morning.”

“Training? What sort of —“” He breaks off when realizes. “The bruise on your — that explains…”

“That reminds me,” I interrupt.  “What _is_ this meeting about?”

“Hm? Oh yes, the stormtrooper program. I have arranged for you to meet representatives from several trooper units.”

“Really? Armitage, that’s wonderful! Thank you.”

“Well, as you said — if it is what you need to better advise the Supreme Leader, I must facilitate it. Now —” He twists his mouth playfully. “Should we take advantage of his absence, do you think?”

“I —”

Before I can say more, he’s leaned forward and kisses me, one hand on my cheek, the other in the back of my neck. His lips are cold. I almost pull away from him, but I remember my mission and instead suck his lower lip between mine first, parting slowly and with a smile.

“Armitage.” I keep my voice at a gentle rebuke. “You have to give me some warning.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He gives me a small, guilty smile. “We’re meeting about First Order business, after all.”

One of his hands has dropped to my thigh now. The other lingers on my face for a second longer. And then he removes both hands, stands, and straightens his uniform.

“Let’s go over the trooper meet-and-greet, then,” he says. “I’ve had the protocol sent to your datapad.”

I pick it up from my desk. “Subject to negotiations, of course,” I say, looking over the first section. “I want to be able to initiate conversation with them, for example.”

“Ah, yes. Perhaps I should get Officer Thanisson in here to take notes,” Hux says.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have Officer Sloane keep track on things on my end.”

We hold a steady gaze for a count and then grin at each other.

But we still call in our aides.

* * *

The stormtroopers whom I will meet with will be from all ranks from Private to Sergeant, and their Commanders and Captains will be there as well. Thanisson and Sloane collaborated to finalize which troopers these will be.

The troopers are not to initiate conversation with me, but I am free to speak to any one of them as long as their commanding officer is present. I may not ask them about their families or the deaths of their comrades. I will not talk about the Supreme Leader, and I _definitely_ will not foul things up by alluding to someone named “Ben” whom these troopers know nothing about. I must not mention FN-2187, of course. They will at no time remove their helmets.

Besides the troopers and their officers, only Hux and I will be present.

I purposely model myself on Leia when I dress for the meeting. Madame Sten helps me arrange my hair in braided loops bound up at the back of my head. I wear a black jumpsuit, rather like those that TIE fighter pilots wear, but closer-fitting, and with a red dragon on the left arm in place of the First Order emblem.

The Hux whom I walk next to as he leads me to the troop assembly area is so different from the one who has been, if I’m honest, the closest thing I have to a friend on the _Finalizer_. He is the real Hux, I remind myself, the mad son of a mad father, his mirth at the success of his brutal methods bubbling just under the the stern expression he is trying so hard to hold on to.

And the stormtroopers _do_ look very impressive — there are twenty whom I’m going to be able to speak to, with five officers, standing in formation, their officers endcapping each row. Behind them are other units, about one hundred troopers in all, to observe and be in the background of the prop vid. A drone is skimming overhead, taking B-roll.

“At ease!” Hux barks, and the troopers simultaneously change posture, widening their stances and putting their hands behind their backs. He introduces me and makes a short speech about the honor of being chosen to meet me, about their their unflappable resolve and the commendations of their officers.

I try to study the troopers’ emotions as Hux speaks, but I find them locked in on his words, a little awed by them — curious about me, yes, but the hope that LX-6492 expressed to me —

Ah, there it is, a glimmering when I smile slightly at them — it’s tamped down quickly, but there. As I said to Ben, they are like children who crave reassurance.

Hux has finished speaking and holds his hand out to me. I step forward.

“At ease _for real_ now, please,” I say. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you so much, and I dread to think you might be as nervous as I am.”

They allow themselves to laugh lightly when they see Hux smile at me, a tense, tight-lipped smile, but not something they see from him, well… _ever_. I push through, telling them the unspecific platitudes that Hux and I had wrangled over when he approved my official remarks, which will be going into his prop vid.

The holocamera drone is hovering just off to my right, filming. It’s not broadcast live; there has to be the opportunity for editing just in case there’s some slip that sends things off-message.

There is no slip. I mention Hux’s generosity in welcoming me, speak of his certainty (I argued with him over changing “our” to “his” and won) that the First Order will continually strengthen, and my hope that I will be a force for good within it. Banal, anodyne, as far as propaganda goes.

After my speech, I greet each of the twenty chosen troopers, including LX-6492, whom I requested be included. I try my best to remember their designations, but soon I’m lost in a string of letters and numbers.

There is a puzzling blankness in their emotions, though when Hux is near there is a kind of shaky anxiety that I’m not even sure the troopers are aware they’re feeling. Their feelings of loyalty to him and the First Order are flat — a solid mass, with none of the affection and trust that loyalty usually entails. Their true feelings of trust are in each other, and here and there, I catch names in their consciousnesses — names that aren’t letters and numbers. Stretch and Spike and Punt and Furman. Nicknames. Does Hux know about these? Surely he does.

I’ve managed to slip away from Hux, and I manage to figure out which of the troopers is LX-6492.

“What is your specialty?” I ask him. I want to draw out their individuality.

“Specialty, ma’am?”

“You know, something you’re really good at — that others know they can count on you for.”

“If I had to say, ma’am, I’d say marksmanship.”

I smile. “Ah, definitely a valuable skill in a soldier.” I turn to another trooper. They’ve begun to gather around. Their officers stand by somewhat warily, watching. “How about you, ah —”

“ST-5983, ma’am. Explosives, ma’am.”

And so on with each of them — tactics, hand-to-hand combat, mechanics, speeder piloting.

“May we ask you a question, ma’am?” LX-6492 asks.

“Of course.”

“What is your specialty?”

A question like that, coming from an officer, could have been full of venom or insinuation, but he is entirely guileless.

“Well, I suppose it’s interpersonal communications, at least here on the _Finalizer_.”

“What about when you’re not on the _Finalizer_ , ma’am?”

“LX-6492,” his officer warns.

“It’s all right, Captain,” I say. I turn to LX-6492 and the other troopers and lean in. “Confidentially, it’s poetry. Don’t tell anyone.” I cast a meaningful glance at Hux, who is standing nearby.

I can tell from the change in their posture that they’re smiling under their helmets — but they’re also puzzled, a quick read tells me.

“But, ma’am, LX-6492 said you have combat training experience,” ST-5983 says.

I smile. “Well, it’s true. I do. I trained in strategy, tactics, unit cohesion — all those things.”

“And practical combat, ma’am? Do you have training in that?”

Just as with LX-6492, he isn’t challenging me. It’s pure curiosity. I put my hand up to the officer, who looks like he is about to try to intervene again.

“I do, but not with blaster weapons. I trained in martial arts,” I say.

“Hand-to-hand?” ST-5983 can’t hide the skepticism in his voice.

“Are you doubting the Counselor, ST-5983?” the officer says sharply. He he has a pale, doughy face and hard gray eyes.

“No, sir,” ST-5983. “Apologies, Counselor.”

“None needed,” I say, with a glance at the Captain. “Yes, indeed, hand-to-hand. I’m probably in no shape to take on any of you, but I’ve been training since I got here, so in a few weeks, who knows?”

Suddenly, an image flashes in my mind — I could pull the blaster right out of the Captain’s holster into my hand, shoot him, dart over to Hux and have him under my control, blaster pointed at his temple, in a moment.

I shake it away. My fingers are twitching, though. My whole body has primed itself for battle; the old instincts of looking for cover and planning modes of offense and routes of escape have taken over. We were supposed to be Jedi in peacetime, but Luke had us drilled in combat tactics anyway.

And it’s something else — damnable pride taking over. I want to show them what I can do — show them that, with a gesture, I could knock their Captain on his back, that if I had my lightsaber I could cut down a whole row of men before they could even unholster their weapons.

Hux stands next to me now. The stormtroopers almost instantly stand in formation, at attention. I quickly scan their thoughts and find their minds primed for command. They will do whatever Hux tells them to do. _Why?_ I can’t find the answer. Theirs is loyalty without reason.

Suddenly, it as if the floor has suddenly disappeared under my feet and I am hovering at the moment just before I plummet. This is an army built on a foundation that is hardly more than a cult of personality. Their loyalty to the First Order, to the Supreme Leader, to General Armitage Hux has no ideological, moral, or emotional structure. There is nothing like what binds me, irrevocably, and however perilously, to Ben Solo, who is now Kylo Ren.

Without the Supreme Leader, without Hux, the First Order could continue on its momentum for only so long. The gears would eventually seize, and the whole machine would simply _stop_ and fall apart, piece by piece. There would be chaos.

Is that what drew Ben to this? Fear of chaos? I think of Ben Solo, kneeling across from me in the library, his body shaking as he told me, “I have no control over it, Mira. These thoughts — I don’t ask for them, they just come to me, and I can’t push them away anymore.”

They were thoughts like the one I just had — those flashes of what we’re capable of, how we could destroy everything around us if we wanted. I saw them when I held his hands — visions of putting his lightsaber through the books in the library, of unleashing his full strength on some of our cockier classmates during sparring, of pulling Master Luke’s lightsaber from his belt — and —

Next to me, Hux is thanking the troopers and officers. The meet-and-greet is over, it seems. I am saying something, too, genuine expressions of gratitude, saying how I enjoyed meeting everyone.

But my essential self is far away.

I need to talk to Ben.

Hux has his head tilted down toward me and he is whispering. I force myself to focus on what he is saying to me.

“The most extraordinary expression came over your face just now,” he says. “I can’t describe it. It’s like you were another person entirely. Like you were somewhere else, seeing something that’s not here.”

“I was,” I say.

He seems not to need to question me further about it. “By the way, I overheard you tell that trooper that there was no need for him to apologize after his captain reprimanded him. You should not contradict officers in front of their subordinates.”

“Yes, of course.” My voice is rather mechanical. “I apologize, Armitage.”

He puffs himself in his preening way. “I think there was little harm done this time.”

“Oh, good,” I say absently.

When we leave the assembly area, Hux moves to put his arm on my elbow, but I quickly say goodbye to him and make for the turbolift to my and the Supreme Leader’s level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have OCD that manifests as intrusive thoughts. One of the frequent ones occurs when I’m in a store with a lot of breakables in it. The OCD will tell me that I NEED to smash everything, that it will be so satisfying and make me happy, damn the consequences. When I was about ten or eleven I actually found a vacant house and threw rocks through every single window because the compulsion was just that strong. (Don't tell.)
> 
> When my OCD was uncontrolled, the thoughts were much darker. So that’s what I was thinking about when I wrote the Dark Side manifesting as thoughts like this. It can make you feel like you’re going insane and afraid of what you’re capable of.
> 
> But I'm much better now, thanks to therapy and medication. Take care of your mental health, kids!  
> \--  
> I was going to have a scene of the meeting with Mira, Hux, Thanisson, and Petra -- just to get a sense of their dynamics; Thanisson's suspicion and jealousy of Mira, Petra's trepidation around Hux. But... eh. I might try my hand at it and see if works, then update the chapter. Then again, those dynamics probably aren't necessary to the overall plot.  
> \--  
> Next chapter: Sex, drugs & rock 'n' roll


	16. My Heart’s a Tart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira feels her own power. And life on the Finalizer takes shape.
> 
> Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Every You Every Me” by Placebo

**The Finalizer, _Above Coruscant  
Standard Month 8  & 9, 36 ABY_**

I go to Ben’s quarters, sure I’ll find him there, even though at this time of day he’s usually in his office or inspecting something or another on the ship. The door opens to me and I poke through the dim anteroom, but he’s not here.

“Ben?”

“In here,” he calls.

He’s on his bed, shirtless and barefoot, his hands folded over his abdomen, gazing at the ceiling.

“Were you _sleeping_?”

“It’s something that people do,” he says.

In the whispers about the Supreme Leader on the _Finalizer_ , one is a rumor that he never sleeps. It’s not true, but it’s close.

“Not you, not _naps_.”

“I was thinking more than sleeping.”

His voice is muffled. He was sleeping more than he’s admitting. I am standing at the foot of the bed, uncertain for some reason of what I should do. His bedroom is still a strange place for me, and not at all a place that is conducive to comfort and rest. The bed is in the middle of the room, on a low black platform. I assume there is a closet secreted behind the panels on the walls somewhere, full of black tunics and cloaks and gloves, but the only other furniture besides the bed is a small platform next to it that holds Kylo Ren’s lightsaber, locked in place, and an altar-like slab of solid stone whose use is a mystery.

“Come here,” he says. “Please.”

I unzip the jumpsuit and step out of it, then fold it and place it at the foot of the bed. I lie down next to him in shorts and camisole on my side so I can look at him. His hair is spread on the red pillowcase, a dark halo of waves. His profile, so distinctively _his_ , with his long prominent nose and pushed-out lower lip, is pensive.

“Do you think less of me now?” I ask. “Whether you want to or not — honestly.”

“No,” he says.

“But you’re conflicted.”

“Not in any way that you need to be concerned about.”

He puts his hand on my bare thigh, and I move closer to him, my cheek on his shoulder, my knee on his thigh.

“It seems like forever since you’ve even touched me,” I say.

“Your mind’s been occupied with other things,” he says.

“I’m not talking about my mind.”

He laughs quietly, then rests his chin on top of my head. “You’ve been thinking about my grandmother.”

“Yes.”

“What happened to her won’t happen to you.”

“Of course not. She didn’t know what your grandfather had become. He broke her heart. But me? I’ve already survived you breaking mine.”

“Mira —”

I push it away. “I saw something today, when I was meeting the stormtroopers,” I say.

I turn on my back, too now. I can see us reflected darkly in the shiny surface of the black ceiling. Him, broad and pale, staring into his own eyes. Me, slight and brown and looking at his reflection rather than my own.

Am I the same woman of the bungalow in the hills, the one who never kept any lover around for more than a few weeks for fear she’d let her past slip, who sometimes cheated and used Force influence to get rich women trying on expensive jewelry past their last hesitation, who sometimes danced until she collapsed just so she could keep from thinking? Am I the same woman who used to be the girl who lay in the grass with Ben Solo just as I do on this bed with Kylo Ren now?

“We were talking about my combat training experience, and I pictured how easily I could kill everyone around me,” I said. “The stormtroopers, the officers, Hux, everyone. If I had my lightsaber with me, anyway. It was so clear.”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately. I feel his thoughts brushing up against mine, searching for those dark corners.

“I would do it, too,” I says. “If they were going to hurt you. Why?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “What use is wondering why? It’s how you feel. Let yourself feel it.”

He turns over and puts his hands on the bed on either side of me, dips his head to kiss me as if drinking in my mouth. I hang on to each detail — the sharp intake of his breath; his lips, slightly chapped, a little rough on mine; the hand he’s now entwining in mine as he moves to biting me on the neck, just behind the ear; how he pushes back against me as I arch my body into his; the way we pull at each other’s clothes, our hands needing and finding skin and flesh and blood; the heat of his body, as if it could burn the palms of my hands, the insides of my thighs where his knees touch them, my belly where his cock throbs and pulses.

The warmth that starts between my legs travels outward, igniting me to the tips of my fingers to pure desire — and not just for sex, not for the act of it but for _him —_ for Ben Solo. And, I realize as my skin seems to cry out wherever his body makes contact with his — for Kylo Ren, too.

“Let it in this time,” he says, almost as a plea. “All the way in. Open yourself to it.”

He means the Force. He means the overwhelming oneness that we have not allowed ourselves to experience since that night, when we saw each other for the first time in ten years. But opening myself to it means also opening myself to his darkness, to my own darkness. It means opening something in myself that I might not be able to close again.

But his body is on mine, and already I feel the hum around us, as if the air is sparking. I feel the Force in my hand when I grab the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine, when I push us up to sitting, my cunt as open to him as my being is to the Force.

We have no need this time of the ways in which we usually consume each other when we fuck — the fingernails that leave marks, the bites that draw blood, the scraped knees and bruised lips, the wrestling for dominance that leaves our bodies battered and our breath catching in our throats.

I feel our bodies moving — mine around and against his as much as his against and inside of me, and, again, it is like the Force is filling my body, like it is emptying at the same time, as if I am floating in a void and pinned to the ground at the same time.

There is no way to describe it.

There is only Ben, his eyes looking into mine, his sensations and thoughts and emotions entwined with mine.

And the power, like like a burst of light shooting from the core of my body — the power we could have, together. This could bind us, I understand now, two beings united in the Force, each with our separate powers that are also one power.

It is too much to resist.

I want to give him anything, everything.

I want him to give me everything.

I am not strong enough.

My legs are wrapped around his hips and he is deep inside me. I find his lips between my gasps, holding them between my teeth, as our moans mingle.  With my fingers I find each of his bones in his spine, his right clavicle sliced through with the lightsaber scar, his ribs above the knot of flesh on his left side, I probe his face to feel the shape of his skull beneath the flesh. We release each other from our kiss, and then his mouth is on my neck, on my breasts, on my belly as I move, letting his lips and tongue travel on my skin with each stroke.

I want all of him.

And these are the words my lips are shaping, that escape from my throat and cry out in the Force. _I want all of you. I want your darkness and your light. I want your power._

And Ben, his body tense now, so close but holding onto this moment of pleasure before climax, says _Take it. Take all of it._

I hear myself scream and it is a primal sound, but he is almost silent as he comes, his jaw set hard, his hands around my wrists now, and then a groan from deep inside of him that parts his lips and shake his frame.

And again, just like that first time, as I lie with my arm draped over him, my lips on his shoulder, I think, _He’s mine_.

And just like that first time too, my mind adds, _For now_.

* * *

I start dancing again. Good music is hard to get ahold of on the _Finalizer_ , and I have to go searching through my things to find recordings. I dance alone in a smaller studio off of the training room, and I think Ben understands that it is something separate from him.

It makes my footwork more lithe when we spar, my jumps cleaner. I have fewer bruises on my body now. I manage to connect a slash with Ben’s ankle once.

He still defeats me, every time, but I don't mind. I never did. He’s Ben Solo, scion of the Skywalker legacy. What did I expect? There were always students who in their arrogance would challenge him, but they never could beat him. He would have his sparring sword at their throat every time. Luke used these sessions as lessons in humility for the beaten parties.

Watching Ben swing his sparring sword in loops as he backs away from me to wait until I am on my feet again, I wonder now if Luke should have done that.

We never know what we should do.

Or if we do, it seems impossible. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t walk the corridors of this star destroyer at the side of the Supreme Leader, who I know sends out stormtroopers to kill and be killed every day. I shouldn’t laugh over dinner with Hux and other officers who are architects of mass murder. I shouldn’t let Hux kiss me in the turbolift or in snatched moments in his or my office. I shouldn’t plan a date to have dinner in his quarters again.

And yet.

And all because of Ben. He is with me, just for a few moments, but as brief as they are, those moments are mine, and mine alone. I do all this for him, and for those in-between times when I can pretend our lives never diverged, that we are Ben and Mira, who were friends and who fell in love and who never became the Supreme Leader and Chief Counselor of the First Order.

* * *

I bring my hookah and a puffy wad of cannabis to Hux’s quarters. Drugs are rather more easy to get on a First Order star destroyer than music is. They’re as good as currency in the black market, and the First Order has currency of every type. I’ve tried to inquire about the mind-wipe drug, but the officers who requisition the drugs (they are to give me whatever non-lethal substance I desire, by order of the Supreme Leader, though he disapproves) honestly don’t know what it is.

In the meantime, I have my hookah — and I have Hux. We smoke on the rug on floor of his room, me reclining on pillows, legs spread, knees up, and him between them on his belly, his hair tickling my thighs. His mouth is warm and soft. I nudge my toes along his ribs and hold the hookah mouthpiece out for him when he raises his eyes, clear and green and flecked with silver, to me. He dutifully takes a drag.

“Good boy,” I say as he returns his attention to between my legs, spreading his lips and mine as if in a passionate kiss, his tongue finding the place to press for an involuntary “oh!” to rise from my throat and my hips writhe.

The hookah is in my mouth and I taste myself on the mouthpiece as I come, in a dreamy, breathless warmth. I laugh softly as he looks up to me for approval and then put my hands under his arms to pull him up on top of me. He grins and pushes my hair from my face, his touch so gentle, the lightness of his palm on my cheek, his fingertips on my brow. I let the hookah fall from my lips and I kiss him, feeling him harden against my thigh. He is not impatient, however, and he pulls away from me to gaze at me with those earnest eyes of his, to stroke my lips and and then slide his touch to the swell of my breasts with those delicate fingertips.

We are in a lazy haze, after a week of intense discussions about the stormtrooper program _and_ the officers’ academy. We argued about a report on psychological reconditioning, and I now I understand why Ben wants to throw him around so much.

But time, mercifully, seems to stretch this moment of calm on and on, when he finally pushes his cock inside me, only after I say “please” with my hands on his hips and my willingness to surrender in my eyes. I trace every freckle on his chest, gently pinch thumb and finger around each rosy nipple. My moan is a closed-mouth hum as my second orgasm washes like a warm wave ever my thighs and up my torso, slackening my arms as I let it take me.

“You’re beautiful,” he says between breaths. He’s never said it to me before.

“Say it again,” I tell him, but he manages only “ _Beautiful_ ” before his breath catches and he holds himself deep inside me as his cock throbs through his climax.

Afterwards, we lie on our backs, naked, and snicker at everything and nothing. Hux’s tabby cat, Millicent, whose existence surprised me as much as anything about Hux surprises me, has grown used to my presence and walks by intermittently, rubbing her ginger head against my hands before she curls up next to him, purring, and falls asleep.

Later, I’ll ask myself why I do this, why I have befriended Armitage Hux, knowing what he is, and knowing that I would kill him the moment his plan to assassinate Kylo Ren got anywhere near him.

But as Ben said, it is pointless to ask why you feel what you feel.

And, I have to admit, Hux is a respite in the storm of emotions that is Ben and me. And he is eager to please. When I’m with him, there’s nothing of the inevitable specter of the past that lingers in the room when I am with Ben.

Still, I have a mission with Hux. I am trying to put together a chain of command for his plot during the time I spend with him, trying to piece together relationships. The person Hux most likely passed the plan on to before obliterating the memory is Thanisson.

But Thanisson is a closed book, or nearly. He glowers at me during meetings, jealous of the time I spend with his idol. He suspects correctly what we do together, and thinks he can use it against me with the Supreme Leader. Well, if only he weren’t terrified of the Supreme Leader and loath to hurt Hux. He doesn’t share his suspicions with anyone, however, since they may have more courage than he does.

Petra and Lieutenant Mitaka don’t know much about him, either. I’m certain, though, if I just find out whom he trusts, I’ll find the next link in the chain.

“We should have dinner with Thanisson and Sloane.” I tell Hux, turning to take the hookah mouthpiece from him.

Hux lies with his hands folded on his chest, in a postcoital stoned stupor. His hair flops over his forehead in a way that I’ve come to find, against my will, endearing. _Feelings are not thoughts,_ Luke used to tell us. _Trust your feelings._ But mine are treacherous.

“Why should we do that? One shouldn’t fraternize with subordinates.”

“Why not? One fraternizes with _you_.”

“Oh, ho, Counselor, don’t get too cocky.” He takes another drag from the hookah.

“It’s not me who gets too cocky, _General_.”

He coughs out laughter along with the smoke.

“Anyway, I only meant that Thanisson and Sloane did excellent work setting up the stormtrooper meet-and-greet, and we should reward that. Surely that’s appropriate?”

Hux grunts. He has dealt almost entirely in sticks rather than carrots in his training methods.

“If you say so, but save it until after our party. There are too many details to think about until then.”

“I’ve memorized the guest list,” I say. “With my extraordinary Jedi memory tricks.”

Hux likes when I talk about being a Jedi, even though, strictly speaking, I am not one anymore. Forbidden fruit and all.

The Jedi are wiped out, according to the First Order, but Ben and I both can sense, like a tickling in our minds, the beliefs persisting — and coalescing around a single point.

_Her._

She’ll be here someday, I know. Maybe not here on the _Finalizer,_ maybe not on Coruscant once High Command decides it’s safe enough for the First Order to occupy it. But she’ll find Ben — _her_ Ben — and everything will change. Will I go with them? Or will I be too corrupted, tainted by lying here with Hux, some drug-addled whore who used to be a Jedi but who is now a sad thing, something to be pitied?

“You got very grave suddenly,” Hux says, breaking into my thoughts. “What would I find if I could get in that head of yours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say — words I once spoke to Ben through the Force when he _was_ in my head.

“Mmm, perhaps not. Mystery is alluring. At least when it comes to women.”

I turn onto my stomach, propping myself up on my elbows. “One week until the party. I convinced the Supreme Leader to get a new suit of clothes, you know.”

“How exciting.”

His hatred of Kylo Ren is like a dull ache now, a constant presence. Lately, though, the other part of this hatred — the obsessive fascination — has strengthened and grown. He pictures me with the Supreme Leader, with a perverse sense that every time he fucks me he is taking some of Kylo Ren’s power. He knows that I feel this, too — and that is yet another source of pleasure.

“Oh, _Armitage_. Don’t be like that.”

“I don’t think it’s too much for a man to expect that his… his… _rival_ will not be a topic of conversation when he is with his lover.”

“ _Lover? Rival?_ Armitage, what kind of melodramatic gothic romance fiction have you been reading?”

“You know I don’t read fiction. It’s a waste of time.”

“And you know what I think of _that_. Fiction opens one’s mind to different points of view and instills empathy.”

“What use would I have for different points of view or empathy?” He frowns, so locked in his fervent devotion to the First Order that the question is disarmingly naive.

“That’s something we’ll have to talk about during work hours,” I say. “I’m disappointed, though. I honestly thought plying you with all these drugs would have helped you see things from another perspective.”

“Oh, no,” he says, his eyes intent on the ceiling. “They’ve made everything so much clearer. I can see exactly how the First Order will proceed. It is glorious.”

This should be my cue to put on my clothes and leave Hux to his visions of glory. But instead I laugh and drape myself across him, settling on his smooth, pale skin and dislodging Millicent, who gives me a look of pure contempt.

“Show me something else glorious, General,” I tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t decide if she’s living her best life or if she's a fucking mess.
> 
> I think writing this chapter is when I began to conceive of these relationships not as a love triangle but as a menage a trois in which two of the people involved never touch each other. It's as if Mira's body is their point of contact, and she's the means of a connection that neither has been willing to pursue.
> 
> Next chapter: PARTY TIME


	17. You Can Call Me Queen B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> It’s time for the party for Mira that Hux has spent so much time planning! It’s gonna go off without a hitch, right?
> 
> Come on now. The best laid plans of mice and Hux, and so forth.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> Song for this chapter: “Royals” by Lorde

_**The Finalizer, Above Coruscant** _   
_**Standard Month 9, 36 ABY** _

Ben’s new suit is in the same style as the tunics and trousers he usually wears, entirely black, but in fine brocade. The pattern — almost invisible, but something attendees of the party will certainly notice — is of lightsabers and dragons intertwined.

We are the final people to enter the _Finalizer’s_ banquet room on the High Command level, arm in arm. The room is vast and high-ceilinged, the dark walls hung with red First Order banners that are almost comically large. The aisle we walk down is covered in plush red carpet. We’re preceded by a retinue of stormtroopers I personally selected, headed by two troopers, one of them LX-6492, who carry our standards — the red dragon, the red cross-shaped lightsaber.

It all seems rather overdramatic to me, but I try to play my part. I’m corseted tightly into Madame Sten’s gown, which has a full skirt and heavy train. My hair — not all of it _properly_ mine — is a pile of elaborate braids woven together, with ornaments of garnets and jet glittering in the plaits.

I can’t help feeling powerful in this armor, with my hand on the Supreme Leader’s arm. He wears gloves of smooth black leather, and carries himself like royalty, even though I know he wishes he were anywhere else, doing anything else. But he is beautiful, Beautiful Ben, and I feel proud next to him.

The room is full of High Command officers, standing in perfect formation, in perfect silence.

The stormtroopers part to flank our path as the Supreme Leader and I continue to the dais at the far end of the Hall. Once we mount the dais, we turn to face the room, and I’m relieved that I manage my train without stepping on it and tearing it. My heart is hammering, but I keep my chin high.  

Everyone turns in unison to face us, and then applauds. Hux is standing in his dress uniform in the front row, and he gives me a sly smile. I try to ignore him.

“This is rather more formal than the dinner party I thought it would be,” I whisper to Ben.

“The First Order doesn’t do informal,” he whispers back. “Especially with Hux in charge of an event. His vanity has no limits.”

Hux now takes his place in front of the dais and the applause ceases as he begins to speak. His speech of welcome for me hardly registers as I scan the faces in the crowd, matching them to the names Petra drilled me on over the past few weeks.

Hux has finished speaking, and now Ben and I are stepping off the dais into the throng of officers, who break ranks to come and greet us. Hux stands on my side opposite Ben, making introductions.

This turns into a dizzying succession of faces, names, handshakes, and unctuous flattery. I feel Ben’s impatience as it continues.

Hux places his hand on my arm as he leans in and speaks in a low voice to tell me the significance of Admiral Someone or Another, and the Supreme Leader shoots him a look of pure vitriol. I notice, though, that Hux removes his hand only when he has finished speaking to me.

I take a glass of sparkling wine from a serving droid, and another, and another. I banter with gray-haired officers, even drawing the Supreme Leader into making a remark every so often.

We sit down to dinner, Ben at the head of the table. I am opposite him, a very long way away, with Hux on my right and Grand Admiral Carn Deralo on my left.

“The word is, Counselor Galan, that you have been talking to General Hux about new ideas about _esprit de corps_ within the stormtrooper ranks,” Deralo says. “And here we thought you were to be Chief Counselor to the Supreme Leader.”

I don’t like his tone, which is insinuating.

“General Hux and I have been having some very interesting and— I hope— fruitful discussions,” I say, smiling like an indulgent mother at Hux.  “I’m not part of the command structure, as you know, so my influence can only go so far. But it _is_ a project the Supreme Leader has entrusted me with, so of course I intend to do my best.”

This seems to satisfy him, for the moment — especially my reference to the Supreme Leader, whose presence on the far end of the table influences every conversation.

General Greki Ves’s wife, a middle-aged woman resplendent in glittering diamonds in her blonde hair and on her white skin, leans forward and asks me, “Counselor Galan, can you tell me about the creature on your banner? I’m not familiar with it.”

“It’s a dragon, Madame Ves, a legendary creature from my mother’s home world.” I turn to Hux. “Should you explain dragons, General?”

Hux launches into the mythology of dragons, which he has been studying ever since I told him about them, with the enthusiasm of a bright child. Under the table, he places his hand on my knee. I flick my eyes at Ben and then back to him, and he removes it.

“Why did you choose it for your standard, Counselor?” General Sorod, farther down the table, asks.

“As General Hux said, they are wise, but neither good nor evil. The dragon is a symbol of my desire to provide wise counsel, unfettered by factionalism or bias.”

“A lofty goal!” he harrumphs in reply. “I wish you the best in that, Counselor. Wisdom can be difficult to find with youth. I am continually astounded at the leadership of young people such as yourself and General Hux in the First Order.”

I take note of the fact that he does not include the Supreme Leader in his estimation.

“The Supreme Leader, General Hux, and I were molded from youth to our roles,” I say, pointedly.

“That reminds me, Counselor,” Sorod says. “So many are wondering about your history. You arrived so suddenly. What kind of training did you receive?”

Ben and I prepared an answer for this, the truth with some details omitted. “I attended a private academy on Chandrila, General. I come from a modest background. My mother was a slave on Tatooine, to be honest. But I showed promise, and was selected to attend the school. I met the Supreme Leader during that time. We were children together.”

I realize that the whole table has gone silent to listen to me recite this sparse history. Everybody knows not to press further, however — to do so would be to break the law that forbids referring to Kylo Ren’s former identity.

“I say, you’re very mysterious, Counselor!” Grand Admiral Deralo says. “I asked General Hux about you, but he was quite cagey. But I understand you two have become thick as thieves.”

“I hope not thieves, Admiral!” I say. “We have both been pleased to find each other dedicated colleagues.”

An alarming exchange of looks travels down the table. At the end of it, I see the Supreme Leader, his gaze fixed on my questioner.

— _I have it under control_ , I tell him.

— _I could gut every one of these graybeards and be done with it._

_— Ben._

He presses his lips together and then returns his half-hearted attention to General Cantha Kreet to his left. She is smiling in a rather stunned way, and I sense her desire to make a good impression on the Supreme Leader.

“My, did you see that look the Counselor and Supreme Leader exchanged!” exclaims Madame Ves. “I expect you two have perfect understanding of each other, being childhood friends.”

There is a tension at the table between those who would see me aligned with Hux — and thus, the military — and those anxious to prove I am united with the Supreme Leader. It is exhausting.

I glance at Hux, produce two squares of paper from a hidden pocket in my glove and surreptitiously place one under the rim of his plate. He looks around to make sure no one has seen and slides it under his palm. I place my own square of dissolving paper on my tongue to show him what to do.

The faces around the table and conversation soon take on a more pleasant aspect, and I carry on speaking with a heady lightness, hearing my remarks draw laughter, my observations produce appreciative nods. Next to me, Hux’s pupils have blown so wide that his irises are like the corona of a full eclipse. He places his hand on mine, which is resting on the table, and for a moment I am alarmed that he has forgotten himself.

But instead he stands, raising his glass to propose a toast. It’s a very effusive one, almost too effusive, about me being a new voice within the First Order. I wince inwardly at this, but this is what the Supreme Leader and I planned. I will be visible, I will be public. I will be part of this machine, the one whose wheels I told Hux I would not grease, scarcely three months ago.

The table applauds, and it seems I’m expected to give a reply, so I stand, swaying slightly. I raise my own glass to Hux, thank him for his toast and for planning the party, and then elevate it again toward the head of the table, toward the Supreme Leader. He is horribly uncomfortable, the same boy who hated attention to be turned to him when Luke would ask him to demonstrate lightsaber technique during training.

“Supreme Leader Kylo Ren,” I say, and my voice rings in the silence of the huge hall. “Ben.”

Voices raise in a single gasp and all eyes turn down the table to the man I’m addressing. The Supreme Leader himself widens his eyes almost imperceptibly, and takes in a sharp breath through his nose.

— _What are you doing?_

_— Trust me._

“During our childhoods on Chandrila, I came to know you as my friend and protector. From afar, I have seen how you have overcome all obstacles to place yourself in the position where you now are. I am proud to stand by your side and usher in this new era of the First Order, one where your triumph can blossom into peace and prosperity for the whole galaxy.” I raise my glass above my head. “All hail the Supreme Leader!” I cry.

Everyone immediately echoes my proclamation, repeating it three times with greater intensity each time. But through the Force I pick up the astonishment and alarm of the the guests.

Kylo Ren now rises to his feet, and the cries cease. He does not raise his glass, which is filled with water, not wine. Instead he places his hands on the table and speaks so quietly that everyone leans toward him to catch his words.

“Chief Counselor Miranda Galan. Mira. I will vindicate your faith in me.” His words come haltingly, but he had the same rhetoric lessons as I did, and his voice grows stronger as he continues. “Let me proclaim us united in our commitment to the First Order — as we are united to each other in the Force.”

My eyes go wide now. My face numb and my knees weak, I almost collapse into my chair. Next to me, Hux’s lips have turned white.

— _Ben, what have you done?_

_— As you said, Mira, it is a new era._

For a moment, it is as if all air has been sucked from the room. Ben then produces a cloth-covered item from a pocket inside his dress coat. He walks down the length of the table to me, and then holds it out to me, pulling off the red drape.

It is a black lacquer box, edged with mother-of-pearl, with a painting of sailboats on a lake on its lid. Hux recognizes it, and he pulls back from me, the legs of his chair screeching slightly on the floor.

Ben opens it, and my lightsaber lies just under my fingertips, sleek and shiny on its blue velvet cushion. I pick it up.

There are more gasps as the guests recognize what the metal object is. I haven’t ignited it in years, haven’t even held it in months, but it is familiar and welcome in my grasp, the kyber crystal humming with recognition of my touch. With it in my hand, the thoughts begin to whir — thoughts of Ben and me, our true selves, more powerful than these people can conceive of.

I find my voice. “May the Force be with you,” I say to Ben.

“May the Force be with you,” the Supreme Leader replies.

All around the table, chaos ensues.

“What is this? Treachery!”

“Are we to be ruled by a theocracy, by a dead religion?”

“We purged the galaxy of the corrupt Jedi Order! This is an outrage against the rule of law!”

“General Hux, explain this!”

Hux, pale as the tablecloth, opens his mouth, but no words emerge. His eyes are dazed. And then he turns to me, and they are full of fear and betrayal.

I reach out to him with my free hand, and he almost flinches away from me. But I merely place it on his, which is twisting his napkin, the knuckles white.

“Ladies and gentleman,” I cry over the din. It quiets to a buzz, then to nothing at all. “Please do not be alarmed.” Standing next to Ben, I know what to say; I know our thoughts are one.

Leia’s lessons return to me, when she would give me a subject to speak on and time how long I could hold forth without hesitating or straying from a coherent train of thought.

“We mean only to be honest with our people. You are all aware of the Supreme Leader’s gifts, but you have been ordered to forget his history. When people are made to disbelieve their own senses and knowledge it can only lead to distrust. And when there is distrust between a government and the governed, disarray ensues. This is what the Empire did, and the Empire was defeated. We stand here before you as what we are — Force users who were Jedi-trained, but who will use our gifts for the good of the galaxy, not for the perpetuation of a religion that failed so many.”

I exchange looks with Ben, and then Hux. Ben’s face is set in his Kylo Ren inscrutability, but Hux is still reeling.

“General Armitage Hux has served the First Order with unsurpassed distinction,” I say. “We will continue just as we have been — working together to ensure that the First Order has a core of strength that will enable us to extend our influence over the far reaches of the galaxy.”

The color has started to return to Hux’s face. I squeeze his hand slightly. He rises to his feet, shakily, and I fear he will collapse, so I hold him up with the Force. He swallows hard.

“Thank you, Counselor,” he rasps. He clears his throat. “Government and military will indeed be united in this new era. The bond that exists between your leaders cannot be broken.” He breathes in deeply. “Long live the First Order!” he barks, his propaganda persona finally conquering his shock.

There is a beat of silence. And then the room erupts: “LONG LIVE THE FIRST ORDER!”

The cheers become deafening. I pull Hux over to Ben, and stand between them, my arms intertwined with both of theirs.

 _How easy this is,_ I think, _power._

But from the corner of my eye and in the consciousness of the Force I sense movement toward us. Ben and I both turn to it at the same moment. It is LX-6492. He still holds my standard in his left hand, and in the right is a raised blaster.

He fires it.

Instinctively, I push Hux behind me. The assassin aimed for him, I realize, not me or Ben.

I am ready to block it, but the bolt hangs in the air, zapping with energy, held there under Ben’s power. I hear the crackle of Ben’s lightsaber igniting, in the same instant as the low hum of my own. LX-6492 draws back from me, and I Force-push him away before Ben can cut him down.

I block two more bolts with my blade and pull the blasters from their wielder’s hands. They ricochet into the wall, and the silence of the guests turns into shouting. Twenty officers close in around the stormtroopers.

I run into the fray as Ben strikes out at another trooper who raised his blaster at Hux. The trooper’s body falls a split second before his head, in its helmet, lands next to it.

I deactivate my lightsaber as I reach the crowd. I stand in front of the remaining stormtroopers and I hold officers back with my hands raised. With quick movements in the Force, Ben disarms them all, troopers and officers, flinging the blasters to the far wall of the room. They hit a First Order banner and then clatter to the floor.

“Stop!” I cry. “We need them alive. They have to be interrogated.”

One of the stormtroopers, who has fallen to his knees near my feet, begins to plead with me. “Please, ma’am, I didn’t know anything about this. Please, I knew nothing! I didn’t fire a single shot! My blaster was still in its holster.” His voice, even distorted by his helmet, is that of a boy.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

“You will all be detained. Don’t worry. If you’re innocent, the Supreme Leader will know.

“And if you are guilty, he will know that, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> Welp.
> 
> I adapted the names of the generals and admirals from a neural net-generated list of Star Wars character names.
> 
> I have a Pinterest board for Mira if you’re curious about how I envision her and her clothes (https://pin.it/vktciedjmsxjkz). There’s a burgundy velvet gown in there, but that’s an image I found after I wrote the description of her dress in this chapter.
> 
> Next chapter: Things get weird. Then interrogations!


	18. Bulletproof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the immediate aftermath after Mira and Ben saved Hux from an assassination attempt, the three have to plan their next move in Mira’s quarters, and it’s — kind of awkward? Predictably, there are arguments. And then it’s time to interrogate the would-be assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the women at this party has to be named Sheila. It’s obvious.
> 
> There's a Hamilton reference in this chapter because I can't bother to separate my recyclables from my landfill trash.
> 
> Song for this chapter: “Bulletproof Cupid” by Placebo

_**The Finalizer, Above Coruscant** _  
_**Standard Month 9, 36 ABY**_  

Our guests file from the banquet hall, dazed. I hear their murmurs.

_“Did you see? That trooper was carrying her banner.”_

_“Nonsense, why would she save the General if she had something to do with this?”_

_“Who is she anyway? The answer she gave at dinner didn’t tell us much of anything.”_

_“I don’t know who she is, but I’ll tell you_ what _she is. She’s nothing but a —”_

 _“Sssh, Sheila — do you want her to hear you? Do you want the_ Supreme Leader _to hear you?”_

A special unit comes to take the surviving troopers to the brig. Another comes to take the dead troopers — two of them — to the morgue.

Ben, Hux, and I remain standing in the center of the room. Oddly, everyone seems to have forgotten about us. Dishes and silverware lay broken and scattered on the floor; the tablecloth is half pulled off. My and Ben’s standards lay crossed with each other on the floor.

My mind has trouble even forming words, which just moments ago flowed so fluently from my lips. The Force sharpened my senses during the fight, but now the halo of light in my vision from the drug I took has returned.

Apparently it has for Hux, too, because he’s gazing around in a kind of ecstatic fugue state. He wanders away toward a chair that lies overturned near us. Mechanically, he uprights it and then sits down.

“You saved me. I thought that you were about to — but you saved me.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between me and Ben. His hair has fallen from its precise placement and hangs on his forehead. He puts his hands to his cheeks and then drags them down.

I let myself sink to the floor, suddenly exhausted. I see my skirt billowed around me and think of the time I spoke to Ben on the holoprojector in my costume for dancing the pandanggo, the burning candles on the floor next to me.

“Get up, both of you,” Ben orders. His emotions in the Force are disturbingly flat. “Hux, come with us. Your quarters are going to need to be swept and secured.”

He walks over to me and holds out his hand. I take it and let him pull me to my feet. Hux staggers over.

“All right,” Ben says. “We’re going to walk straight to the turbo lift. No one will be in the corridors. The whole ship is on lockdown. But we won’t hurry. People will still be watching us. Hux, straighten your tunic.”

I reach out and push Hux’s hair back in place. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply.

“There is a light,” I say to him. “And it never goes out.”

“What?”

“It helps,” I say. “Just repeat after me. _There is a light.”_

_“There is—”_

_“Enough_ , both of you!” Ben growls. “Mira, what did you give him this time?”

“Just something to make the time pass more pleasantly,” I say.

Hux and I exchange a look and suddenly we dissolve into uncontrollable laughter.

“Good thing too!” Hux shrieks. “Or else we might have perished… _of boredom_! _”_

 _“_ The situation could have been _grave_ indeed!”

“Now, now, Counselor, let’s not _lose our heads_!”

I am in tears, leaning my forehead on Hux’s chest as our giggling subsides into ragged breaths.

Ben rolls his eyes. “Are you two _finished?_ ”

I step away from Hux and nod, wiping away the tears. I realize I still have my lightsaber in my hand, so I retrieve the box from the table and put it away.

We walk out of the banquet room the perfect picture of the First Order’s leadership.

* * *

Ben’s quarters are too sparsely furnished for three people, so we all go into mine after sending yet another one of the First Order’s strange, personality-less droids in to do a sweep.

I begin pulling off my heavy gown the moment we step through the door. I let it drop to the floor and step out of it, kicking my shoes off. They fly across the room and hit the window. I struggle with the hooks on the corset and finally manage to get it off. I can breathe more deeply now, and for a moment my thoughts swim. Ben and Hux avert their eyes from me uneasily.

I put on my dressing gown. Hux sits on a chaise, his face set and serious. Ben’s emotions, held in check until now, finally flare.

“How did this happen?” he seethes through gritted teeth. “I understand how _you_ missed it, Mira. You let your guard down with your stupid drugs. But for me to have been unaware of the treachery—” He begins to pace.

“I’m touched,” Hux says sarcastically. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Ben motions to push Hux to the floor but I put my hand on his arm.

I sit in the chair opposite Hux. “The troopers need to be interrogated, but before we do that, we have to put everything in the open.”

Hux, who had been looking at his hands, raises his eyes, fear in them. He shakes his head at me.

“That drug you told me about, Armitage.”

“Yes?” his voice sounds very dry, relieved.

“You’ve taken it, haven’t you?”

Hux rubs his face with both hands. “I don’t know. I told you, it wipes out even the memory of taking it.”

“How do you even know about it, then?” I ask.

He begins to speak, stops. “I don’t know. I have it — it’s a little vial. And I know what it’s for, but… I never really thought about how I got it. It’s as if….”

“Armitage, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Dammit, I know.” His hand is clenched by his side. “I just don’t know what I did or didn’t do.”

“You did _something_ ,” Ben breaks in. “Your plot against me went as well as any of your other schemes. And now you’ve almost reaped the consequences of your incompetence.”

“ _My_ incompetence? You, the almighty Supreme Leader, didn’t know about a conspiracy against one of your officers happening on your own flagship!” He stands up. “So what if it went awry? I managed something you couldn’t discover — something you had to bring in a — a —”

He gestures toward me and then breaks off, realizing what he is saying. He turns to me and his eyes, still wide, are full of hurt.

“Miranda? But — you seemed —” He sits down once again and looks toward Ben. “It was all a plot,” he says.

His sense of betrayal is sincere.

“Armitage,” I say and reach for him, but he turns away from my touch to glare at Ben.

“I said you two were of a kind, and I was right. Still, bravo.” He claps his hands, mockingly. “Shall I tell you, Supreme Leader, what it took for your concubine to insinuate herself in my trust, to extract information from me?”

Before Ben can answer, I cut in. “You’ll watch how you refer to me, Armitage, if you’re wise.”

He scoffs. “Obviously I am not that, or else you wouldn’t have ensnared me in your web.”

Just a half hour ago, I was defending his life. And then I was laughing with him, my face pressed against his chest. They were honest acts on my part. As horrible as he is, Armitage Hux has battered down my defenses — at least enough so that I won’t let anyone _else_ kill him.

I don’t know why I care that Hux is hurt, why I care what he thinks of me.

I do know that what I am fighting inside me has nothing to do with Hux.

“Sometime when I’m not in the room,” Ben says quietly to Hux, his voice low and feral, “you had better get on your belly and beg the Chief Counselor for forgiveness. She’s the only reason I didn’t rid the galaxy of your noxious presence weeks ago, damn whatever your pathetic plot is.”

He looks at me now. “We should have let LX-6492 kill him.”

I summon a shaky laugh. “And deprive High Command of that brilliant display of unity and strength? I think not.”

Hux’s face, a sneer of contempt just a moment before, turns into a contortion of mixed pain and laughter.

“The Jedi do indeed know how to scheme,” he says. A hungry look is in his eyes now, as he takes me in, greedily. “I don’t know whether I want to kill you or —”

“ _Careful_ , Hux,” Ben says.

I stand up and walk away from them both to the large viewing window. Outside, the galaxy looks as it always does — vast and dark and dotted with light. There is more dark in the universe than light, the physicists say. The dark is what gives it its shape, its mass.

“Forget all this _nonsense_ ,” Ben finally says after silence hangs between the three of us for a full minute. “We have to question those stormtroopers.”

“Yes,” Hux says. “There’s a larger conspiracy at work here. We must show immediate resolve to uncover it, or the officers will lose faith in us. They’ve already been questioning why we have not brought the girl who killed Snoke to justice.”

He says this last sentence with a sneer at Ben, who ignores it.

I sigh. I want nothing more than to climb into my bed and sleep off everything that’s happened. But this is what power means, too.

“I’ll go get dressed,” I say. “Just give me five minutes.”

“Hux should stay here,” Ben says. “He’ll be more secure.”

“No,” Hux says, immediately defiant. “I’ll not be thought to be hiding in fear.”

Ben dismisses him with a motion that says _Don’t blame me when you get killed._

I leave them alone in my lounge while I dress, part of me wondering if they’ll both be alive when I emerge again. I take off the rest of my elaborate formal undergarments and put on one of my everyday suits, the ones modeled on Ben’s. I do my best to take the jeweled pins and false extensions out of my hair and pull the remaining braids back. I don’t have a belt fitted so I can hang my lightsaber from it, but I rig something up with a leather bracelet that does the trick for now.

When I come out, Ben and Hux sit tensely on opposite sides of the room. A droid arrived with changes of clothing for both of them while I dressed, and they are back in their workday uniforms. Absurdly, I imagine them stripping out of their dress clothes, glaring at each other from across the room, then tugging on the uniforms and boots, Hux with his sneer and Ben with his glowering eyes.

As we leave my quarters, Hux eyes my lightsaber but says nothing.

Just an hour before, we were celebrating ourselves, lavishly, foolishly, and now we are back to playing tin soldiers with the galaxy.

“Well, aren’t we the trio,” I say as I look at our reflection in the turbolift doors. Even though things are still shimmering a little at the edges for me, we all look exhausted. But we’ve squared our shoulders and set our jaws.

“We’re presentable, anyway,” Hux answers.

* * *

We decide that I’ll talk to LX-6492 first. He sits on a bench in a tiny cell, handcuffed, his armor and helmet removed. He looks much as I pictured: sandy hair, cropped short, earnest blue eyes — and young, so impossibly young.

I sit down on a stool that is bolted to the floor across from him. His head is bowed.

“LX-6492,” I say.

He won’t look up, won’t meet my eyes.

“Is there something that the troopers in your unit call you? You know, something shorter?”

He doesn’t answer.

“You can tell me. It’s not going to get you in any more trouble than you’re already in, right?”

“Lussix, ma’am,” he mumbles. “They call me Lussix.”

I nod. “Alright, Lussix. That makes it easier. I’m terrible with numbers. Will you tell me why you did what you did?”

He shakes his head.

“You know what I am, yes?”

He nods. “I didn’t before, ma’am, but when I saw you — and the Supreme Leader, I… Yes, ma’am, I know.”

“I can find out what you know without you telling me. But I’d rather not do that.”

“Yes, ma’am. But what I meant was that I _can’t_ tell you why. Because I don’t know. It was like a switch in my brain when the Supreme Leader gave you the… the…”

“Lightsaber,” I say.   

“Yeah, that. It was like a signal. It told me to wait until the right moment and then… and then….” He puts his head in his hands. “You have to understand, ma’am, I don’t want to hurt General Hux. I’m loyal to General Hux! Ma’am, you know that.”

“Do I?” I say. “Lussix, when you said that you wished me the best with reforming the stormtrooper program, what did you mean?”

“Only that — ma’am, only that I was glad that the program was getting attention because that could only make us stronger.”

“So you don’t think there’s something wrong with how the program is run? Something that makes you resent the training methods?”

He looks up at me with dry, red-rimmed eyes. “Ma’am, it’s not my place to say. I don’t know enough about all that.”

“You know enough about your own feelings.”

He shakes his head. “I really can’t say, ma’am. I don’t know.”

I stand up and stretch my legs.

“Something that bothers me, Lussix, is that you were carrying my banner when you shot at General Hux. You see what that looks like, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

“Intention or no, it’s fueled speculation.”

He hangs his head.

“But I know that I’m not behind this, which means that someone else _is_. We need to find out — for your sake as much as General Hux’s.”

“I’m telling you, ma’am, I don’t know. Honest.”

I sit back down. “It could be, Lussix, that you know something you’re not remembering.”

“Could be, ma’am. My head’s been a little woozy, like I’m getting sick.”

“Will you let me look?”

His head shoots up, his eyes frightened. “You mean get in my mind? Read my thoughts?”

“Just a little.”

“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice, ma’am.”

I want to tell him that he’s wrong, but he isn’t. I keep the probe as light as I can — not that I am capable of anything like what Kylo Ren uses to interrogate prisoners. Still, Lussix clenches his jaw and his eyes fill with fear.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

* * *

He is obviously lying to you, Counselor,” Hux says, staring at the vid screen at the image of the trooper sitting in his cell, his face in his hands.

“He’s _not_ , General,” I insist. “If he were lying to me, I’d know.”

I turn to Kylo Ren. “Supreme Leader, do you agree with me?”

“The Counselor is right, General,” he says. “LX-6492 is telling us everything he can recall.”

We’ve fallen into our formal, First Order leadership language for no real reason — there is no one in the room but the three of us. But Hux has gone cold to me — or rather, he is resisting his familiarity with me. He wants to prove that his his complaint with me is more than that I’ve bruised his ego. Ben is truly distant, though, wrapped up in his own thoughts, and I’m too tired to unravel him from them to find out what he is feeling.

“There was nothing to be got from others,” I say. “They didn’t know _anything_ and didn’t even take out their blasters. They’re just a bunch of confused kids.”

“Counselor, my troops are not _kids_ and they’re certainly not _confused_.”

“Don’t let your ego get in the way of assessing the situation honestly, General,” I say. “They may not be confused kids when they’re on the battlefield, but _this is not that_. They don’t know what happened.”

“ _He tried to kill me_ ,” Hux snarls. “ _That’s_ what happened. An act of treachery against a First Order High Command Officer. He’s lucky to be alive right now.”

I sigh. “He doesn’t know _why_ he tried to kill you.”

“Well, _find out_ , then.” Hux’s tone is quickly rising into pure rage. “Supreme Leader, surely you can —”

The Supreme Leader grabs him with the Force and drags him across the room. The toes of Hux’s boots drag on the shiny black floor. He releases him when they are nose-to-nose.

“We _said_ ,” Kylo Ren hisses, “he doesn’t know. We’re going to have to use a different strategy. Get a report of all of LX-6492’s movements over the last three months — ever since Chief Counselor Galan arrived onboard.”

“I’ll have Thanisson —”

“Are you really that stupid?” the Supreme Leader shouts. “No one is investigating this but the three of us in the room. _Anybody_ could be complicit.”

Hux glares, but he doesn’t say what he’s thinking. That the Supreme Leader and I could be as well — that we orchestrated this to convince the High Command that we are dedicated to the cause of the First Order.

“I wouldn’t have mentioned that as being a benefit of saving your life if it had been a plot all along!” I say to Hux, who starts as I answer his unspoken thought. “And why would I have have LX-6492 carry it out while _carrying my standard_? The High Command doesn’t know _what_ to think of me already, and now some stormtrooper whom I singled out for honor tries to kill a general? Why would I do that?”

“Perhaps you knew there would be no consequences for you,” he sneers. “It must be nice.”

“What must?”

“To have the Supreme Leader on your side.”

Next to me, the Supreme Leader tenses, but I turn to him and put my hand on his arm.

_—Don’t._

Hux throws his hands out, palms up. “I’m obviously at a disadvantage here because unlike you two… _whatever you are_ … I can’t read minds.”

 _Poor Hux_.

“Armitage,” I say, more gently now. “You’re under a huge strain. We all are. Let’s get out of the brig and talk somewhere else, and rest.”

“ _REST?!_ There was an attempt on my _life_ not one hour ago, and you want me to _rest_?”

“Yes,” I say. “Drink some water and _rest_. What’s the protocol for a situation like this?”

“Lockdown of all nonessential personnel, just as we are,” says Hux, “for at least twenty-four hours, longer if the threat remains”

“There, you see? We have time. Come back to my quarters. You’ll be safe there.”

He looks at me and the Supreme Leader uneasily.

“For fuck’s sake, Armitage,” I say. “If we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

“Isn’t that reassuring,” he says.

But he starts the report on LX-6492’s movements and then follows Ben and me as we leave the brig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, Hux, you need to hydrate.
> 
> Next chapter: More arguing, and Mira has a GREAT idea.


	19. Everywhere a Judas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the interrogation of Hux’s would-be assassin offers few clues, our trio has to figure out their next steps for their investigation. But it’s not safe on the Finalizer. Then Mira has a great idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the 50,000-word mark!
> 
> There are a lot of f-words in this chapter. That is all.
> 
> Song for this chapter: “Professional Widow” by Tori Amos

_**The Finalizer, Above Coruscant** _   
_**Standard Month 9, 36 ABY** _

We sit in my lounge, each in separate chairs, looking alternately at the floor and each other. Silent. At one point, I glance at my hookah, sitting on the floor amongst my favorite cushions.

“ _No more drugs_ ,” Ben growls.

I order tea instead. We sit and drink it silently.

“This is stupid,” I finally say. “We have to talk to each other or we’ll never figure this out.”

“This is damned awkward is what it is,” Hux says. “It’s an impossible situation.”

Ben sighs heavily. I look at the dragons on the toes of my slippers.

 _Stupid dragons, you started this all_ , I think, nonsensically.

I stand up, and both men look at me, expectantly.

“What do we know already?” I ask. “We know about this mind-wipe drug, we know that three stormtroopers were involved in a plot that the one surviving trooper knows nothing about. We know that none of us know about it, either, but that doesn’t mean that one of us didn’t know something _at one time_.”

Ben and Hux are silent. I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, a sure sign that I’m about to do something stupid.

“ _All right_ ,” I say. “All right. We know that both of you are fucking me, right? _We know that_. Let’s just acknowledge that and move on.”

Unexpectedly, Hux begins to sputter out laughter, and then just as abruptly, he stops. His face has gone pale and clammy again, and he looks at the Supreme Leader as if he’s certain he’s about to be killed. But Ben just glares at him.

“You knew,” Hux says, contemptuously.. “All the time you knew. What kind of man —”

“You’ll stop talking if you value your life, Hux,” Ben says, his voice edged with fury. He turns to me and says quietly, “That was not necessary.”

“The whole ruse is over,” I whisper back. “We’re in this together, with Hux, whether we like it or not.”

Behind us, Hux stands. “Ah, not that this is a conversation that I wish to have,” he says, “but it seems that that’s how it’s going to have to be — but would you mind telling me _why?_ Whose idea was it? What game were you two playing?”

Ben turns as if to silence him, but I answer anyway. “The Supreme Leader could feel the intentions you once had to carry out an assassination plot. He thought that I could find out more than he could, and I did.”

“That’s all, then,” he says. “Nothing else?”

“Armitage, let’s not get into that now,” I say.

He eyes me coldly, the Hux who is the power-obsessed First Order general taking over. I sense in him the same desire to cause pain as when I wanted to tell Ben about that first time with Hux. He wants to tell Ben of my every moan and murmuring, about how wet I am when we fuck, about all the praise I’ve given him when he’s deep in me and I’m urging him on.

But I shoot a look at him, and he stifles the desire.

“ _Should I leave you two alone?”_ Ben asks, his tone dangerous.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say. “For all we know, someone is trying to kill _all of us_. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

I go to the bar and pull up the holo screen. I open Hux’s report on LX-6492, the list of everyone he has interacted with over the past three months.

“There —” I say. “There’s where we start. And we find out all we can about the drug — inventor, manufacturing, distribution, dealers. But not now. Right now, we get some _sleep_.”

I go into my room, leaving the two men on their own to figure out what they’re going to to do.

I take my lightsaber off my belt and put it in its case, then lock it in a drawer in my dressing table. Ben comes into the room as I’m unplaiting the last of the braids in my hair. He sits on my bed.

“This,” he says, “is _a lot_.”

“No fucking kidding.”

“You can’t just seriously think you’re going to go to sleep when he’s in the other room? You can’t trust Hux.”

“I can trust him not to kill me.”

He’s quiet, considering, probing.

“He’s afraid,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says. “You feel sorry for him.”

“I can’t help it. I read too much fiction.”

“What?”

I shake my head.

“Mira, this is a serious situation we’re in. You can have your fun with Hux, whatever, I’m over it; but he’s still in the other room, and he’s still the same person who plotted to kill me. He’s cornered now. Snoke used to call him a ‘rabid cur’ — and you know what rabid dogs do when they’re cornered.”

“I’m telling you, he’s not going to hurt me.” I sit down on the bed and start tugging a brush through my hair. “He’s still half-convinced that I’m putting on a show for you and doing all this for him.”

“Half-convinced?”

“Well, a quarter convinced? Maybe? In any case, he’s uncertain. You told him yourself I’m the only reason _you_ haven’t killed him yet.”

He rubs his temples. “This is impossible.”

“Now you sound like Hux.”

Suddenly, the tension leaves the room, as if we’ve both hit our limit and our minds have decided to reset.

With a half-grin and a growl, Ben dives across the bed onto me, pushing me down on my back and biting at my lips. I laugh and pull him down and then wrestle him onto his back, holding his arms down. Looking at him, I see the boy I played in the grass with. My Ben. The rush of recognition leaves me almost ecstatic; in the Force, we look as if light is radiating from us, but still, we are casting dark shadows. For some reason, this doesn’t worry me. It’s who we’ve always been.

“Tell me the truth — are you honestly ‘over’ me messing around with your arch-nemesis?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Hux isn’t my arch-nemesis.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t even know why we carry on like this — it was all wrangling for favor with Snoke before. But Snoke is gone now, and we’re still acting like spoiled kids. We both want the power now, but there’s no one left to impress.”

He tries to pull his arms out from under my hands, but I pin them down harder. “No one? And just who am I? Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Don’t try to distract me with thoughtful self-evaluation of your relationship with Hux.”

“Don’t call it a ‘relationship.’”

“Ben.”

“I like what it does for you,” he says finally. “You’re not denying it anymore — the power you can have over people.”

I study his face, and try to relate it to the one I saw in the holoprojector when he told me he was in pain and needed me. Kylo Ren seems like more of a mask than ever, and the hate that used to run through me along with my longing for my friend Ben Solo is growing duller with each day.

Now, he is very nearly smiling — his eyes are at least. And I can’t help but plant a kiss on him, still pinning him down. My hair, crackling with electricity from being brushed, falls like a curtain around our faces.

He slides his arms out wide, which makes me collapse on his chest. I lose my grip on his wrists and he captures me in a bear hug. “I have you now,” he says.

I collapse further, laughing into his shoulder, but as I quiet, he says, “No, I’m not entirely ‘over it.’ But, well, it’s not like I…”

“Not like you don’t have someone else you think about,” I finish. “Not that I’m comparing your girl….”

“You don’t have to think about her.”

I flip onto my back. “Not right now anyway. But do you know whom we _do_ have to think about?”

“Who?”

“Hux, Supreme Leader. _Hux_. He’s still out there.”

Ben sighs. “Isn’t he always.”

* * *

In the end, we all stay in my lounge, like girls at a slumber party. We’re all too anxious and adrenaline-addled to sleep. And we never finished dinner. So we have the porter droid deliver us some sandwiches, and we eat them while sitting on the pile of cushions, in a circle, so no one has their back to anyone else.

“This is homey,” I say. “Just three political operatives having a nosh after an assassination attempt.”

“It’s not going to be possible to securely investigate this on the _Finalizer_ ,” Hux says. “We can’t hide out in your quarters forever, Miranda, luxurious as they are.”

He glances around with a sneer, unimpressed with my decadence. I remember that Hux has never been in here before tonight.

“There aren’t any on-planet sites that have been secured enough for High Command to occupy,” Ben says. “The Resistance still has its operatives, and they know where most of our bases are. So we’re just going to have to make do.”

“Quarantined like this? Or are we just going to send everyone off-ship and have people we need to question brought aboard one-by-one?”

“Don’t be paranoid, Hux.”

“Paranoid? _Three of my own soldiers tried to kill me tonight_.”

“Yes, and my own general is trying to have _me_ killed, but he’s such a fuckup that he doesn’t even know _what his own plot is_.”

“Come off it, Ren — you have to admit that is damned clever.”

“Maybe if it worked, but it seems to have gone off the rails and almost gotten you killed instead.”

“That was a completely separate plot! How would that even happen?”

“That’s just it, Hux, we _don’t know_ because you had a stupid fucking idea.”

I watch them argue back and forth as I’m eating my sandwich, like I’m watching a tennis match, feeling just as emotionally invested in it. I consider that I could just let them go on until they tire themselves out, but eventually _I_ want to rest and they’re keeping me from it.

“So what is it then?” Hux is saying. “We’re going to box ourselves up in here, like sitting… sitting…”

“Ducks,” I interject. “Sitting ducks.”

Suddenly, this gives me an idea.

“Mira, no,” Ben says.

Hux furrows his brow. “No to what?”

“It would be perfect!” I say.

“What would be perfect?” Hux asks.

“Are you kidding?” Ben throws up his hands. “It’s completely unsecured. You don’t know about all the precautions we had to take just for that short trip.”

“Then take them all again! You have to admit, Ben — nobody knew I was there.”

“ _I_ did. And also — _she_ knows.”

“What the hell are you two mind-reading psychopaths _talking_ about?” Hux yells.

Ben and I turn to look at Hux simultaneously. The errant lock of hair has fallen back over his forehead, his face is bright red, and his green eyes have the crazed look of one of the outtakes of his prop vids.

“Suns, Armitage,” I say. “Calm down.”

He sighs. “ _Calm down_ , she says. Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Gaia,” I say.

“Gaia,” he repeats.

“My house there — we can go there. Nobody knows about it, and people there won’t be suspicious about me showing up — no, not even with a couple of men,” I add, seeing Hux’s skeptical look.

“We’ll be recognized,” Hux says.

“By my neighbors? They live on communes and say they’re ‘beyond politics.’ For all they know, the Empire is still in power.”

“Didn’t General Organa help you hide there?”

“Yeah, but she has no reason to think the Supreme Leader and you will be there. Just kill the prop vids that I’m in, lock down info, and I’m back to being nobody from no place. Besides, even if General Organa _did_ think you’re there, I know her. She’s not going to order the death of her only son.”

I feel the last word hit Ben in the gut like a sack of sand.

Hux bites on his bottom lip and looks askance. I’m reminded of the call he made to me, when he told me that the Supreme Leader needed someone.

“If you’re thinking it’s a good idea, Hux, you can just forget it,” Ben says.

“We don’t have to be there long,” I say.

“Mira,” Ben says.

“We can do some of the questioning by holo comlink,” Hux says, pushing his hair off his face. “That can be quite psychologically effective, if the projection is large.”

“Hux.”

“Now, whom can we leave instructions with?” I ask. “We need to tell as few people as possible that we’ll be off the _Finalizer_ , and _nobody_ where we’re going.”

“There’s Thanisson —” Hux starts.

“ _No_ ,” I say. “That guy is treacherous as fuck, Armitage. I can’t believe you don’t see that.”

“But you wanted to have dinner with him!”

“So I could find out what he _knows_ — you probably passed the assassination plot through him.”

Hux pales a bit. “That is… certainly a possibility.”

Two of my cushions, Force-propelled, hit us squarely in our faces.

It’s Hux’s and my turn to stare at Ben.

“Are you seriously starting a pillow fight?” I ask.

“You’re acting as if this is an actual plan,” Ben says. He rakes both hands through his hair. “It is _not_.”

I raise my hand and wave it, mind-trick style. “ _It is not_ ,” I mimic.

“That’s not what I was doing —”

l toss the cushion back. “I think we all need to actually sleep. Maybe one of us will have a better idea if we’re rested.”

I look across the room at one of the chaises, but realize I can’t bring myself to stand up. So I settle on the floor with one of the cushions under my head, positioned so I can look out into the galaxy. I’m asleep before I even consider what Ben and Hux are going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so strangely domestic that I almost rewrote it entirely because it just seemed too cutesy. But they're dealing with a really stressful situation and sometimes that makes people act silly. So onward!


	20. Our Thoughts Compressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the trio prepares to leave the Finalizer, Mira and Hux have an encounter in a corridor. And then, it seems _someone_ doesn’t want them to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the recent comments! I’ve reached a tricky part in the narrative in my writing progress (I’m out in chapter 28), so knowing that people are reading encourages me to push through. Please feel free to share with your fellow fic reading friends.
> 
> The chapter title is from “Pure Morning” by Placebo
> 
> Other songs for this chapter: "Drop-Dead Gorgeous" by Republica, "All My Life" by the Foo Fighters

**_The Finalizer, Above Coruscant  
_ ** _**First Order Freighter, Space  
 _ **Standard Month 9, 36 ABY**_**_

I’m the first to wake, and I find us sprawled on the floor like a litter of puppies. Ben’s arm is slung over me and my feet are resting on Hux’s hip. I have no idea what is going on for a moment and have to piece together, detail by detail, the night before. I scoot out from between them and run to the fresher.

By the time I’ve dressed, someone has ordered breakfast — proper breakfast with eggs and pastries and fruit, not blue milk protein shakes, so that someone was probably Hux. Ben and Hux have made themselves approximately presentable and are sitting across from each other, silent. Ben has a steaming mug of caff and Hux has tea, sugared until it’s like syrup if I know him. And I do. I know both of them better than anyone else does -- except perhaps each other. They’re giving each other leery looks, and I imagine it’s because they woke up next to each other instead of me.

“Has anyone come up with a better idea yet?” I ask as I sit down, snatching the last triangle of buttered toast.

Their faces tell me that, no, no one has.

Ben stands up. “I’ll leave orders with Captain Peavey,” he says. “Hux, have the ship readied. We’re leaving in two hours.”

He turns and looks at Hux expectantly when he reaches the door. Hux sighs, sets down his mug, nods at me, and follows the Supreme Leader out of my quarters.

“I’ll just clean up then,” I say to the empty air.

I don’t clean up, though. I call for a porter droid to pull out my trunk and pack some of my clothes. Most, though, I leave in my closet. What use will I have for full-length velvet gowns on Gaia? I bring two uniforms to wear during the holocalls, pack my jewelry myself, and strap my lightsaber back on my belt.

That done, I leave my quarters’ level and walk through the eerily empty corridors of the _Finalizer_. The machine that is the First Order itself is still whirring, somewhere, but here everything is quiet, only the sound of my footsteps breaking the silence. It’s unnerving, so I lighten my step, blending into the silence.

I turn a corner, and Hux is there in the corridor, a porter droid trailing behind him as it pulls a trolley full of trunks. One of them has barred sides and Millicent lies inside, staring with amber eyes full of righteous anger. Hux starts when he notices me, and then sighs.

“Another one of your tricks, I suppose,” he says. “You and Ren are like damned ghosts.”

“Where is the Supreme Leader?”

“He decided that everything is secure enough to leave me on my own for a bit. The droids did a security sweep, so I went to pack. He’s with Captain Peavey, going over orders. I was about to join them.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want something?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry about _that_.”

“What do you want me to say, Armitage? You’re a political creature. You’ve done what you had to do, as have I.”

He lets the porter droid pass us. Millicent mewls in protest as she loses sight of her master. He stands facing me, very close.

“I think you forget whom you’re dealing with,” he says.

“No,” I said. “Not for a second.”

He’s closer now, studying my face. “Your eyes have changed since I first saw you.”

“Have they.”

“There used to be something in them that showed that you weren’t part of all this — that you were _your own creature_ , as you said. But no longer. You’re Kylo Ren’s creature. That monster you call _Ben_.” He all but spits out the name. “The one who leaves his teeth marks in your skin, all those bruises. You must like the pain. You must have wanted them all killed, some part of you. Or else you wouldn’t have forgiven him.”

I won’t let him hurt me, I tell myself. And I won’t give into my desire to use the Force to strike right through him, leave him crumpled on the shiny black floor.

“I haven’t forgiven him. I hate Kylo Ren.”

“Do you? Is that why you can giggle with him after he’s just killed two of the troopers you met and personally selected to be in your honor guard? Is that why you can stand by his side day after day as his orders decimate the ranks of the Resistance?”

I start to take a step back from him, but he grabs me by the wrist — not painfully, just enough to stop me.

“Admit it,” he says. “You’re turning into one of us.”

My first impulse is to push him away, to muster my strength in the Force and send him sliding down the corridor.

But he’s right. I wasn’t strong enough to resist the gravitational pull of Ben Solo when we were children, and I’m not strong enough now. Where he goes, I follow, even into the dark.

Is that why I suggested Gaia? Do I think that in the sunshine and warm breezes, he’ll be different — _I’ll_ be different? Just because I can coax a smile from him now doesn’t make him any less Kylo Ren.

But I’d rather follow him into that dark than give him up.

“I don’t know what I’m turning into,” I whisper, suddenly defeated.

I’m crying — and how long has it been since I’ve done that? The tears on my cheeks feel impossibly hot and wet.

“Well, well,” Hux says, his mouth twisting. “You’re still human after all.”

He puts his free hand on the small of my back and pulls me to him. I don’t resist, and I don’t want to. I turn my face up to his, the grass-green of his eyes, his pale lashes, his cruel mouth, set in a sneer at my distress.

And just as he leans in as if to kiss me, he releases me.

“Damn you,” he says. “It’s like there are two of you — ten of you. Whatever you are, it changes with the day, with the hour.”

“ _Age shall not wither her,_ ” I recite. “ _Nor custom fade her infinite variety_.”

“Let me guess, another line from that Gaian play about a queen,” he says. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’re playing a part.”

It’s as if I have been struck. “You’re right,” I say.

“What part do you want to play right now?” he says. “Are you the Supreme Leader’s loyal counterpart standing by his side? Are you the scared courtesan looking for respite in secret trysts? The diplomat charming gray-haired admirals at dinner parties? Who?”

He backs me into the slanted wall of the corridor as he speaks, and now he is against me, our bodies touching from shoulders to toes. Hux is not as tall or broad as Ben, but he’s still bigger than I am, and I feel engulfed in the gaberwool of his greatcoat, which drapes around us as he braces himself with his hands on the wall, and presses his mouth on mine until I whimper and he breaks away, smiling.

“I know _that_ isn’t an act anyway,” he says.

And all at once, his hand is pushing up the hem of my dress, and I am unbuckling his belt and pulling open his trousers and opening my mouth to his and hooking my leg around his waist, under his coat, which shrouds our frantic maneuvers. He pulls down my underwear and I grab his dick, hard and insistent as always, and guide it between my legs. He groans with his cruel smile still on his face and pushes inside me. He presses me harder into the wall, holding me up with the heel of his palm on my breast. I have my hands closed around the material of his tunic, pulling him closer into me, closer, as if to find our skin through our clothes. My lightsaber clangs against the polished metal wall as he thrusts. Hux glances down and grins when he sees what’s causing the sound.

“You were magnificent,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about doing this ever since.”

I bite my lip. “Even when we were yelling at each other?”

“ _Especially_ when we were yelling at each other.”

It’s a sudden passion that spends itself quickly. I come, gasping, my cries echoing in the empty corridor. His hands grip my hips as he groans with his final few thrusts, his cock twitching powerfully inside me. We separate, panting, and I’m aware suddenly of the wetness sliding down my thighs.

Hux produces a handkerchief from an inner pocket of his greatcoat and hands it to me. _Always the gentleman_.

“That’s something you’ve never let me do before,” he says, fastening his trousers, and I hate the smugness of his tone, the amusement in his expression. “It’s a fitting send off for us, hm?”

I dab between my legs, fold the handkerchief, and hand it back to him. He tucks it back into his pocket. I try to slow my breathing, to quiet the last few throbs of pleasure still pulsing between my legs.

“Armitage,” I say, finally finding my voice.

I am not sure what I want to tell him, what his name coming from my lips, the tone almost pleading, is meant to convey. But he must hear something in it he likes because the cruelty melts from his face, and he’s the same Hux who looked at me in wonder the first time he made me come.

“Damn you,” he says again, and offers me his arm.

We walk through the shiny black corridors of the _Finalizer_ as if we are strolling through a suburban neighborhood, oblivious to everyone behind closed doors.

* * *

I leave holo recordings for Petra and Madame Sten, bathe and change out of my rumpled clothes, and then make my way to the docking bay.

And then we are all aboard the same freighter we left Gaia in. We look at each other grimly.

“It feels rather like running away,” Hux says.

“It’s a tactical withdrawal,” I say. “You’re familiar with the concept.”

Hux smirks at me.

I have power over him with these allusions, the shared knowledge of what we do when we’re alone. Both of these men — I know a version of them no one else does. And they know the same about me. Is that what the attraction is? The desire to possess something of another person? Is that how they insinuate themselves into your desires? Hux has become something my body wants.

But Ben — my whole being craves him; I’m aware of him standing behind me, glaring at Hux’s smirk, his thoughts winding around me, becoming part of me. We are tied together, inexorably.

I turn to him, to those dark eyes, that set jaw, those full lips. He knew when Hux and I walked onto the bridge what we had been doing.  I kept my mind open to him the whole time. What does that feel like, I wonder. I imagine him talking to Captain Peavey, aware the whole time of the pleasure I felt as Hux pushed me up against the wall and gritted his teeth as he fucked me.

Sometimes I’ll catch flashes of his moods when we’re not together — a surge of rage or frustration, the intensity of his concentration in the cockpit of his TIE Silencer, the sudden despair that has no clear origin and has sent me running down the corridors of the _Finalizer_ to find him more than once.

Still, he can know everything about me, with just a little effort, while parts of him are still closed to me. I don’t know what Snoke did to him, how that twisted shell of a living being was able to corrupt the heart of the boy I loved. I don’t know what happened that night at the Temple, not the way he saw it.  I’m not ready to know it. I don’t know that I ever will be. It may top the reservoir of hate I hold for Kylo Ren, make it spill into my love for Ben Solo.

Our trunks are loaded, Millicent is safely stowed in Hux’s quarters, and the ship is conducting its preflight checks.

“Let me fly it out,” I say to Ben.

“When was the last time you flew?” Ben asks.

I shrug.

“Don’t look like that, Armitage,” I say, seeing the extreme skepticism cross Hux’s face. “I learned to fly from three of the best pilots in the galaxy — the same ones who taught the Supreme Leader. This is just a light freighter. I can do it.”

Ben frowns at my casual reference to Chewie, to Luke, to Han. I miss them. But would they even recognize the woman I am now? Sometimes I sense Luke in the Force, the briefest presence. Is he checking in on me? What does he think? Does he understand?

And there, standing next to me, is the reason my old master is dead. The reason the man who was almost like a father to me — a somewhat unreliable one, to be sure, but still — is dead. They died out of love for Ben Solo. And here I am, ready to do the same.

Would he die for me?

Ben has stepped aside, his mouth slightly turned up, opening my path to the cockpit. I trot to it like a child, sliding into the pilot’s seat. Ben sits down in the co-pilot seat. We exchange a glance.

And with a few flicks, with the controls in my hands, we’re off. I laugh as we leave the hangar and reach speed, hearing Hux swear behind me. We’re running for our lives, maybe, but there it is — that heady, free feeling I had every time Han would get up and say, “Take the stick, kid.” Not in the _Falcon_ , though _._ Never in the _Falcon_.

Whatever First Order upgrades the little craft has make it surprisingly maneuverable. I bring it around in a tight arc, and Hux, behind us in the lounge yelps out, “Really, is that necessary?”

The nav computer is calculating our hyperstream route, but I don’t want to relinquish control. I’m giddy, careering through the blackness. As huge as the _Finalizer_ is, it is corridors and rooms, the ceilings never high enough not to enclose you.

And then there’s a blip on the ship’s sensors. A light craft, following the trajectory of our turn.

“Ben,” I say. “What is that?”

He checks a screen. “TIE.”

“ _TIE?”_ I say.

“Correction. TIEs. Three.”

He’s calm, preternaturally so; assured that these fighters are no threat, he’s studying the situation as if from the outside, puzzling it out.

Hux is in the cockpit in an instant, leaning toward the screen. “This is Peavey’s doing.”

“No,” Ben says. “The pilots — they’re a blank. Like the stormtroopers that attacked us. It’s why we couldn’t sense their intentions. They had none — until the trigger.”

“What was the trigger this time?” I ask. “Lussix said it was my lightsaber for him.”

“It could be —” Ben’s eyes are half-closed as he considers.

“They’re almost in firing range,” Hux says. “We don’t have time for this. Make the jump to lightspeed.”

I shake my head. Ben’s calm is transferring to me.

“No,” I say.

“ _No?_ ” It’s the voice of a general who does not have his orders contradicted.

“We have to take them out,” I say. “The orders, whatever they are — get transmitted through some kind of contact.”

Next to me Ben nods. “Yes, that’s it. We have to cut off the chain.”

The first TIE has closed some space and fires, but I wrench the ship to port and evade the barrage, almost unthinkingly.

“Ren, get in the pilot’s seat!” Hux says, forgetting himself.

“No,” I say again. “We need someone on canons, and Ben’s a better shot than either of us.”

Ben is already pushing past Hux as he strides to the gunner’s seat.

“ _I’m not a pilot_ ,” Hux says. “It’s been _years_ since I flew anything bigger than a shuttle.”

“You don’t have to do anything unless I tell you,” I say. “Just sit there, all right?”

He slinks into the seat next to me, somewhat chagrined. Hux is not used to taking orders.

My senses pique as the TIEs come streaking closed with their distinct high-pitched whines.

“We’re lucky none of them stole your Silencer,” I call to Ben as I swing the freighter around hard to evade another barrage of cannon fire.

The TIE that was on our tail misses the mark as it tries to follow our turn, placing itself squarely in our line of fire. Ben takes it out with a single shot, not bothering to fire more than once. It spins off into space.

“Be ready to punch to lightspeed when I say so,” I say to Hux. “After we take out the last TIE.”

“Miranda —”

“There!” I say, pointing at a lever. “You slide that forward. When I say so.”

The second TIE gets in a few shots that shake the freighter as the rear shields absorb them.

“Aren’t you meant to dodge those?” Hux asks.

“You _distracted_ me. And I haven’t flown _anything_ in a decade,” I say. “I’m not going to be perfect. This thing has _ridiculously_ souped up deflector shields anyway.”

I pull an evasive maneuver and the rest of the volley streaks harmlessly into space. But then the TIE picks up its speed suddenly, taking shelter beneath the freighter, in the cannon’s blind spot. I pull back and the TIE tries to follow.

“It’s gonna be starboard!” I yell to Ben and then yank the controls, managing to turn the freighter nearly 90 degrees.

Again, with a single shot, the TIE is gone in a puff of sparks.

The third TIE has been firing on us through this whole chase, but hasn’t managed to hit us. Nor will it, I decide.

“Ben! I get your cabin if we take this one out without it even so much as skimming our shields!”

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Hux yells. “This isn’t the Resistance! Show some discipline, woman!”

I laugh as I pull the freighter into a roll to evade another volley of cannon fire, letting out a whoop before I can stop myself. The TIE is squarely in front of us now.

“Get it, Solo!” I shout.

He does, and I keep laughing as I bring the freighter back on course for the hyperlane route.

“Your contribution now, Armitage,” I say.

He scowls as he pushes the ship to lightspeed, then stalks out of the cockpit.

“I’d better check on Millicent,” he mutters.

Ben and I meet in the lounge, both of our faces flushed. It’s not because of the combat, not for him, anyway — he’s been in far greater peril than this more often than I can imagine. But it’s the two of us, the same rush from fighting the stormtroopers in the banquet hall — doing what we were trained to do since we were children. It’s the past rushing in on us: Han’s exasperated barked commands, Chewbacca’s patient grunts, Luke’s elation at his students’ success.

“We’re not bad,” I say. On my toes, I take a quick bite on his lower lip.

He grabs my waist and draws me to him, returning the bite — and then more. We sink onto the red sofa in the lounge. His teeth sink into my shoulder, his hands pull at the flesh on my ribs. He is hurting me, and he knows he is. And Hux was right. I enjoy it. I love every mark he leaves on my body. And I love every time my fingernails leave raised scratches in his arms, every time he puts his hand on the back of my head and pushes my cheek into the bed, every time my hands are at his throat.

It’s the Dark Side, telling us to hurt each other. So instead of hissing my hatred at him, I dig my fingernails into his skin. And instead of cursing me as a whore, he leaves bruises on my flesh. We hurt each other’s bodies to spare our souls. And we do it again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... corridors, right?
> 
> I debated whether making Mira kinda good at piloting was a little too much, but then I remember she was a freaking Jedi. Even Obi-Wan knew how to pilot.
> 
> But still -- Han never let _her_ fly the _Millennium Falcon_.
> 
> Would Hux know how to pilot? I dunno — he’s a General, not an Admiral, so that means he’s more of a ground forces kind of guy. I love messing with him, so I decided, no, he does not.
> 
> Mira's identification with Cleopatra is probably going to get her into trouble, don't you think?


	21. It Takes Strength to Be Gentle and Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira, Ben, and Hux are once again sharing space on the freighter as they go back to Gaia. The road trip reaches that stage when everyone is tired and kind of pissy with each other but then end up having meaningful interactions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from “I Know It's Over" by The Smiths  
> Other songs for this chapter:  
> “Passive Aggressive" by Placebo

_**First Order Freighter, Hyperspace  
_**Standard Month 9, 36 ABY**_** _

Ben relinquishes the cabin with the observation window, and I sit on the bed, cross-legged, watching the stream until my eyes close. The bit of fighting was fun while it was happening, but now I’m reaching into the Force to find traces of the lives we’ve just taken, trying to feel their energy transfer from bodies into everything. Their identities are blanks to me, but I know they were doing what they were raised for, just as Ben and I were.

I feel Ben at my door and open it to him before it has a chance to chime. He comes in and sits next to me, just as we did when I was leaving Gaia to join him on the _Finalizer_.

“I’m sorry I called you _that name_ ,” I say. “I know you don’t like it.”

He _hmphs_ in reply. “It seems I’ve moved past caring about that. I hardly noticed. It just felt like — like it used to.”

“I’m sorry, too, that I — I let you feel — me and —”

He shakes his head. “Why should you be sorry? I put you down that path. Why shouldn’t you hurt me with it?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you, not like that.”

“I don’t know why. I would want to hurt me any way I could if I were you. I _do_ want to hurt me.”

“Oh, Ben.” I tuck my hand under his arm and lean on his shoulder. “Don’t.”

He is quiet for a moment and then laughs quietly. “I _did_ tell you Hux has his uses, didn’t I?”

I smile and nudge him. “Indeed.”

“Don’t think I don’t hate it, though,” he says, darkness falling once again. “And not why you think. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of him touching you —” He breaks off. “That’s what I thought I’d hate about it when I asked you not to do it. But then it wasn’t that.”

“Then why?” I ask.

“It’s that I thought he would try to hurt you. It’s that it matters to me at all. What that means.”

I feel his struggle against the pull to the light, against caring about me, about _anything, anybody_ — even _her._ Or…

“You think caring about me means you care less about her.”

“I don’t — I told you, forget her.”

“But you haven’t.”

“No.”

I don’t tell him that I hate it, knowing that _this_ , what we have right now, is temporary, destined to be — not exactly replaced, but superseded — by a far stronger bond, one that is more important than this one. But I don’t need to tell him.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” he says.

“You’re right. It’s not so much that I’m deciding, though. It’s more like it’s… an inevitability.”

“Inevitability is what put me here.”

“Your own choices put you here,” I say, angry in an instant.

It’s so strange how it can rise in me like that — a look askance from him, a moment when we’re sparring when I wonder _Did he look like this when he killed them?_ It’s enough to make the hate rise in me again, the loathing for Kylo Ren blotting out my love for Ben Solo.

Maybe that’s part of Hux’s attraction, too, I think, not exactly understanding why I’m still thinking about Hux. But just like in the holocall I got from him those months ago, Hux has always been exactly who he is. He never was anyone else to me; he never destroyed my belief in him along with so much I cared about.

“I made those choices because I believed in inevitability,” he says, his voice muffled, hurt. “Snoke told me the Dark would take me, no matter what. I would be stronger if I didn’t fight it.”

“And now? Are you fighting it?”

“Not because I mean to.”

I turn to face him, kneeling, my hands held out, palms up, as always. He turns and places his hands on mine, enveloping them. When I close my eyes, I find it’s harder than it used to be for me to meditate on the light. I used to imagine myself as a circle, the light and dark bisecting me in a curve. I could make the light expand, swell, subsume the dark. I could never rid myself of it entirely — and I don’t think anyone can — but I could bring it under control.

Now, not just the dominance of the dark alarms me, but also the nature of it — pulsing and growing, not just overtaking the light but _consuming_ it, taking it into itself and transforming it. There is the light, a sliver now, and I put all my love into it. I find the wells of compassion deep inside of me — for Ben Solo, the boy whom the Dark Side took; for Armitage Hux, the boy with no home, educated in evil; for the stormtroopers whose helmets hide impossibly young faces; for Madame Sten and her loyalty to Padmé Amidala; for Petra and her childhood in the Unknown Regions; for myself, the young woman who lost her best friend; even the girl, who found someone who understood her and lost him almost in the same moment — _everyone_. I have to find my love for all of them, even —

Kylo Ren.

But I can’t. Not for him.

I open my eyes and Ben is gazing at me, his dark eyes intent.

“I know you’re afraid,” he says. “Fight it.”

* * *

Hyperspace travel is just like any other kind of travel. It can be boring. Forced proximity can fray nerves, especially if there are already reasons to be stressed. After the distraction of the brief firefight, the three of us spend a day wandering aimlessly around the cabin, drinking tea and caff, keeping up with the documents that Captain Peavey sends us. He’s running reports on the three TIE fighter pilots who pursued us. We prepare for the interrogations. We get into an argument about droids and the sentience thereof and Ben breaks the porter droid by slamming it into the wall just to make a point. Millicent escapes from Hux’s cabin and hides behind a panel in the cockpit until he coaxes her out with treats.

On the second day, Ben is repairing the porter droid after a morning of everyone searching the ship for the ingredients and means to make our own breakfast. There are better uses of the Supreme Leader of the First Order’s time, but he’s the only one who knows how to fix it.

Hux and I sit together in the lounge, not speaking, but neither of us seeming to want to be away from each other. I feel him struggling against this. He liked it better when he believed that each moment when we were alone together was a stolen one, that I was using all my strength to hide us from the Supreme Leader out of sheer desire for him. It fed his bottomless and fragile ego. It gave him something to hold over the Supreme Leader. But also — and this is what I must contend with — he likes me, and I hurt him. As much as someone like Hux can like anyone at all, as much as his pain can be separated from his ego.

I haven’t yet delved into Hux’s mind — I don’t like doing that, as a rule — but sitting here, I want to know. What is beyond the hate and resentment and disgust for his own desires that I feel on the surface? What does it mean, to have the regard of a man like General Armitage Hux? Or, indeed, a man like Kylo Ren? It means what I saw today, the dark feeding on the light.

Hux has looked up from his datapad and is watching me.

“You’re not doing your homework either,” he says softly.

“Advising a military dictatorship can be kind of boring,” I say. “Who knew?”

“Whatever did you do with your days before?”

I laugh, and so does he, lightly, but his eyes are earnest.

“Really, what did you do?” He sets his datapad down and sits back, crossing his legs, with his ankle on his knee.

“I worked in a jewelry store,” I say. “I sold expensive rocks to rich ladies. I danced. I made pots. I read books. And cooked food. I wrote poetry.”

“Poetry? I thought that was a little joke for the stormtroopers.”

“No, it was the truth.”

“I don’t understand poetry.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

I don’t say to be dismissive, and he understands this. His green eyes are not exactly gentle, but they’re neutral, devoid of malice and desire alike.

“Mine has not been a life conducive to poetry.”

“I know. And I’m sorry for that, Armitage.”

“They say there’s poetry in justice,” he says. “That suffices for me.”

“ _Justice?_ ” I can’t help the incredulity from rising in my voice. “How does the First Order define _justice?_ ”

“Disorder is injustice,” Hux says. He is stony now, his jaw set. He breaks his gaze. “And what did you do before the jewelry store, when you were a Jedi?”

I don’t answer for a moment. That fear of chaos, of having no control — it is the same in Hux as in Ben. It is how they assert their control, how they hold onto it.

“I thought you didn’t like me to talk about the Supreme Leader to you.”

“Well, we’re not what we used to be — or what I thought we were — anymore, are we? Besides, you don’t have to talk about him.”

“If I talk about that time, I do.”

“Before that time, then. You’ve mentioned your mother. What was she like?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because our knowledge about each other is unbalanced. You have an advantage, as I’ve mentioned. I’m correcting it.”

“I know less about you than you think,” I say. “I can sense your feelings, maybe a fleeting thought, but that’s it. Your memories are all your own. I told you, I’m not like him.”

Still, I tell him that my mother was a young woman who was a slave who had everything that entails done to her. That my father was a smuggler or a bounty hunter or a gangster or a lonely farmer or any of the other men who passed through Mos Eisley and made use of my mother’s services. This was after she was freed and before she moved and changed professions.

I expect him to say — or at least think — something about the daughter following the way of the mother, but he doesn’t. He regards me with disarming candor.

“I didn’t know my mother,” he says. “But when I put in the order to have my father killed, I thought I was doing justice by her, too.”

“I understand,” I say. And I do.

“I shouldn’t have called you that — his concubine. I apologize.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I apologize, too.”

“For what?”

He is looking askance again. I try to catch his eye.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” I say when he finally looks at me. “For thinking that you can’t be hurt.”

“I know what you really think of me,” he says.

“I can think a hundred different things about you in an hour,” I say. “You contain multitudes.”

He laughs a little and shakes his head. “That’s your poetry, I suppose.”

“Not mine. But it’s truth, the way poetry is truth.” I push the datapad aside, along with the pretense of work. “It’s so difficult to know yourself. We spent hours on it at the Temple, meditating on our being, of our thoughts in the Force. But I think we all learned that who we are isn’t constant — it’s like an ocean. I didn’t know about oceans when I first came to Chandrila. But they’re constantly changing — on the surface, beneath the surface, way down in their depths — changes in one causing changes to the others, over and over.”

“Hours spent thinking about yourself?” Hux says. “No wonder the Jedi Order failed.”

“They forgot that they weren’t supposed to rule the galaxy,” I say. “That’s how everything seems to go wrong, since — since forever. I don’t understand why we keep trying.”

“But you’re here, with the two men who rule the galaxy.”

“Do you, though? I don’t think anyone ever has.”

We’re silent for a while. Hux picks up his datapad, puts it down again. He turns his whole body to toward me and looks at me, lounging with his elbow on the back of the sofa.

“Maybe we could. The three of us. A triumvirate.”

I think of how I once studied his profile and imagined it on an old coin. A king’s profile. An emperor’s. I can see a white diadem tied around his head, his hair allowed to grow longer, his eyes gazing with the surety of power rather than the desire for it.

I think of the play about the queen. I think of her first lover.

“Those never end well for the triumvirs,” I say. “And empires fall. Why do you think you can fix the failures of the past? They failed for a reason. Their flaws are built into them, not a matter of their execution.”

“What do you propose then, Counselor?” He is being sarcastic, but not cruelly so.

“I don’t know. By the time everything begins to fall apart, it’s usually too far gone to put back together.”

“I am keeping the galaxy from falling into disorder,” he says, his voice gripped with true belief.

“But that’s just it,” I say. “The nature of the universe isn’t order. It isn’t balance — that’s what the Jedi teachings say, but it’s not quite the truth. The universe is chaos. And you’re part of the chaos, no matter what you call yourself or what you impose on smaller systems.”

Hux regards me perfectly seriously. “Well, what am I supposed to do with that information?”

I laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Write a poem about it, maybe.”

When Ben returns from fixing the droid, we’re back to reading our datapads, and the current of satisfaction running from Hux’s emotions tells me that secret conversation carries some of the same thrill as secret sex used to for him. But, still, he’s wondering if he’ll ever be inside of me again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mira apologizes to Hux. Hux apologizes to Mira. Mira apologizes to Ben. Ben apologizes to NOBODY. Goddammit Ben, why are you like this?
> 
> We have Walt Whitman in Mira’s repertoire of Earth — I mean _Gaian_ poets!
> 
> Next chapter: House rules, girl talk, tacos, and farmers' markets. Yes, it's still the same fic.


	22. Why Can’t We Be Ourselves Like We Were Yesterday?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having arrived on Gaia, Mira, Hux, and Ben have to transform into their alter-egos. Hux and Ben aren’t great at it. Ben is restless. Hux catches someone’s eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Bizarre Love Triangle” by New Order
> 
> (See the end notes for my full playlist.)
> 
> Thank you for your encouraging notes! Feel free to share if you're so inclined.

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

The three of us put aside First Order business to go over who we will be. My part is easy; I’m who I was for eight years — Isobel Esch, who came from Tatooine in search of a happier life. Or it _should_ be easy. But putting the false identity on after months of having my real one back, whatever the strange circumstances of it, is stifling, like a too-heavy coat on a warm spring day.

We all have to be different people here. Ben has his life before the First Order to draw upon, and military bearing was never part of his physical language anyway. But Hux… I rumple the perfect part in his hair and try to tell him about standing _contrapposto_ , but something of the General always remains.

“Can you do anything about your accent?” I ask.

“What’s wrong with my accent?”

“Nothing, it’s lovely. It’s just that it’s so… Imperial,” I say.

“I can’t change it. It’s the accent I’ve had all my life.”

“All right. We’ll just say that you’re a graduate student I met during my vacation on Chandrila, and you’ve come here with me to be free of the constraints of higher learning.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just say something about how no one really questions authority anymore and my hippie neighbors will accept it.”

Hux looks truly offended.

“Ben, we’ll tell them you’re an artist.”

“ _Really_ ,” Ben says.

“Come off it, you _are_ an artist, so it’ll be fine.” I look at them, trying to picture them as a couple of civilians I met on holiday at a Chandrilan spa. “Oh, and you’re not Armitage and Ben. Think of some new names.”

“This is ridiculous,” Ben says. “We’re not going to be here long enough for it to matter.”

“Think of something before I introduce you to someone as Jabba.”

Ben rolls his eyes.

Hux gestures delicately at Ben’s face. “What about… all this. What will we say about that?”

I trace my eyes along the scar on Ben’s face and my fingertips tingle with the memory of its contours.

“Just say ‘War is hell,’ and they won’t ask you any more questions,” I say. “Now, what’s your name going to be?”

“Bail,” Ben says.

“Bail? Oh! All right, that’s… Bail.”

I’m floundering badly. His grandfather’s name. Not _that_ grandfather — but the Republic and then Rebellion leader, the one who, along with his wife Queen Breha Organa, adopted Leia when she was a baby being hidden from his real grandfather, Anakin. _Darth Vader_.

“It’s just that it was a very popular boys’ name the year I was born,” he says.

I decide I won’t press him about it now.

“What about you, Armitage?”

He makes a pretense of thinking. “How about… hrm… Wilhuff?”

“ _Wilhuff?_ As in Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin? No.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Wil, then?”

He sighs. “I suppose it’ll have to do.”

In civilian clothes Hux looks alien, unfamiliar, a young man in the attire of an impoverished student living on ready-pack rations, pale from spending all his time studying and teaching undergrads indoors, his red hair askew over his forehead. Without his uniform, he is more slender, more vulnerable. A little bit lost-looking without the trappings of authority.

But Ben — oh, he is so like the boy I remember. He wears a lightweight, loose-fitting black tunic. It’s not quite the right size for him, and his pale wrists dangle from the sleeves, just as when he was a too-quickly-growing teenager. I remember everything — the way his dark hair curled on his neck, his skin brown from spending time outdoors; how the sunlight caught the amber in his eyes, the sound of the gravel crunching under his feet in the sparring arena.

I remember them stepping off the craft in the airfield on Gaia when they came to get me. For all Ben talking about the precautions they had taken, they had appeared as Supreme Leader Kylo Ren and General Armitage Hux. Their identities had been too much for them to strip away, as foolish as it was not to hide them.

This time, we have our uniforms packed away, to take out when we conduct the interrogations via hologram. Our identities hidden until we need to take them out, dress them up, and use them to intimidate with our power.

* * *

Lupe, the old woman who has been watching my bungalow, seems unsurprised to see me coming up the path with two strange men. She’s in the front garden, watering my huge philodendron.

“Isobel, dear, you’re back. And none too soon! I’m afraid the mice have been taking advantage of your absence, sneaky things.” She catches sight of Millicent in the carrier Hux holds. “But I see your companion here has a solution for _that.”_

She turns her tiny, wrinkled face up to look at Ben and Hux.

“What strapping young men you’ve found!” she says. “Well, you’ve always had a knack for it. I tell my granddaughter she should take a page from your book. ‘What you need is a man. Or several.’ But, no, she wants the ‘right man,’ whatever _that_ means. I don’t know how any granddaughter of mine is such a prude.”

I thank her and she wanders off without asking more about Ben and Hux. My cheeks are burning; I’m somehow chagrined to have an old woman talk about my sexual history as a matter of common knowledge.

“There’s no chance we’re going to run into any of these men you have such a knack for finding, is there?” Hux asks.

“Probably not,” I say. “I never went for the type who hang around.”

“Ah,” Hux says.

Ben stalks inside after us and closes the door as soon as the porter droid brings in the trolley with our trunks. His face is set in the determined expression I know best from our training sessions, making him seem all the more like the boy I knew.

But he speaks, and he’s the Supreme Leader. “This house has a studio of some kind, a room with no windows — yes?” he asks me. “I remember you talking to me when you were in it. That’ll be our command center. We’ll set up the holocam and projector for the interrogations in there. It’ll have to be set up to pick up just us and not our surroundings.” He picks up a case and points to a stack of more. “Hux, take those. Mira, show us where to put everything.”

“Take off your shoes,” I say.

Ben turns and looks at me like I’ve gone mad. “What?”

“I let you get away with it last time because you were guests, but _no shoes in the house_.”

“Mira, this isn’t—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just do it,” Hux says, tugging off one of his boots.

Ben practically glares at him, but he sets down the case and takes off his own boots.

“Thank you,” I say.

I lead them to the large central room I use as a studio. It was meant to be a dining room, but I put in a barre and a mirrored wall. The candles for the pandanggo are still on the floor.

“We need a table in here, somewhere for a screen. Can the mirrors be covered?” He is avoiding looking at them.

I pull the red velvet curtain closed across the mirrored wall. We clear out my things and set up all the equipment. That done, Ben doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He fiddles with a transmitter. He shoots Hux fiery glares for no particular reason at all. He paces.

Hux excuses himself, saying something about Millicent. In a moment, from the other room I hear an infuriated yowl and Hux yelling, “Blast it, Mil, I’m trying to _help_ you!”

I stand in front of Ben and take his hands in mine.

“Ben. We have time. Let’s take a minute. Let’s have a meal. Let’s… well, we’ll see.”

His hands close around my wrists. “High Command is trying to find out where we’ve gone already. The communiqués we sent en route aren’t quelling speculation, and Peavey may give in and tell them. They think we’re running away.” He all but pushes my hands away and begins pacing again, shaking out his arms as if he is heading into battle.

“Ben,” I say. He keeps pacing. “ _Supreme Leader_.” He stops and looks at me. “Captain Peavey isn’t a fool; he knows better than to defy your and Hux’s orders. We’ve sent word that we’ve made landfall, and Captain Peavey has done the preliminary questioning of the LX-6492’s contacts. Another couple of hours aren’t going to matter.”

“Just because we’re a million light years away from the _Finalizer_ doesn’t mean we’re on vacation,” Ben says.

Hux returns to the room, a handkerchief pressed to his right hand.

“No,” I say. “But we still have to _eat_. And there’s nothing in the house. I’m going to get something at a café and then go to the market. Do you want to stay here and pace, or do you want to come with me?”

Hux unexpectedly brightens. “I’ll go with you,” he says, apparently forgetting that he’s supposed to be keeping a cold distance from me. He’s as mercurial as he is relentless sometimes. “As a general, I don’t get chances to interact with ordinary people in the Outer Rim.” He rubs his hands together as if the ordinary people are going to be our meal.

Hux’s decision makes Ben’s choice for him. When we walk out of the house, Ben striding almost petulantly, and Hux gazing around like he’s never walked on a planet before, I can’t help but think, _I’m living in a fucking sitcom_.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Hux says, shading his poor pale eyes and skin with his hand.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s something that happens here. It’s nice, isn’t it? Sunshine! I missed it.”

Hux, a true spacer, ducks his head to keep the sun off his face.

We walk down the long drive from my bungalow to the little town, Bonny Doon, hardly more than a village. It’s nestled between the ocean and the forested hills, a small collection of ramshackle cottages and bungalows, shops, and a few vineyards. Most of the residents are aged members of a counterculture movement that grew during the Empire’s rule, eschewing technology and authority and embracing drugs and free love. There are no droids aside from the occasional grumpy four-wheeled helper bots who trail their owners, carrying shopping bags and, sometimes, children. No one has a lot of money — you have to travel about 20 klicks south to get to the resort town where the jewelry store I used to work at is to find the rich.

I direct the boys, as I’ve bizarrely started thinking of them as, to sit down at an outdoor patio at a cafe.

“Should we sit out here in the open like this?” Ben asks. “People could recognize us.”

I look at Ben and see a slightly scruffy-looking young man awkwardly perched on the edge of a metal bistro chair. Hux, meanwhile, is trying his best, leaning back in his chair but watching the street a little too vigilantly.

“Relax,” I say. “Believe me, no one is going to recognize you. No one here even knows what you look like.”

“Really?” Hux says. “Because the Ministry of Propaganda assured me that our messages were reaching all Outer Rim planets.” He looks slightly distressed.

“Oh, they’re reaching here,” I say, thinking of the first time I saw Hux. He was ranting on my vid screen about the impending destruction of the Resistance and the corrupt Republic, which would be replaced with the might and glory of the First Order. “It’s just that no one in this town besides me pays the slightest bit of attention. It’s one of the reasons Leia chose it.”

The server comes out of the restaurant — my friend Farah, tall, curvy, blonde, about my age, but otherwise my complete opposite.

“Iz, hey, hon! I didn’t know you were back! How was your vacation?”

“Most enlightening,” I say. “These are my friends Bail and Wil.”

I gesture to Ben, who has tried to hide the scarred right side of his face by pulling his hair over his cheek, and Hux, who has stood up and is smiling a bit too widely in an effort to look like a normal person.

“I met them on Chandrila, and they wanted to come here after I told them so much about it.”

“Well, welcome!” she says to them, nudges me with her hip on the shoulder, and then gives us each a menu.

“You see?” I say after she’s returned inside. “You’re both acting _completely_ weird, and she didn’t even bat an eye.” I glance over at Farah. “Oh. Well, she’s _kind of_ batting an eye at you, Armitage.”

Hux tries to look at Farah without turning his head. “Why? What am I doing wrong?”

“Look, Farah is my friend, so I know what she’s up to. She thinks you’re cute.”

His nostrils flare in contempt. “ _Cute_ ? Like some kind of small, fluffy… animal... _thing?_ I’m a general of the First Order,” he yell-whispers at me. “I am ridding the galaxy of insurgent _scum_ , and some… some… serving girl —” His face is reddening, his fist clenching under the metal screen of the tabletop.

Ben rubs his fingers together and Hux immediately is silent. “Shut up,” he hisses at Hux, unnecessarily. He turns to me. “This was a mistake.”

I lean across the table toward Hux. “Just calm down. _Cute_ just means ‘attractive,’ all right? Farah and I have an agreement that she can poach men from me and I won’t get mad about it.”

Hux’s pale green eyes study my face. Ben has released him, but he still hasn’t found his voice. “Poach men?” he says finally. “Are you running some kind of slave trade?”

I laugh. “Something like that. But not at all profitable. She’ll be coming back to take our order. Just don’t encourage her, _Wil_.”

Ben falls into ordinary life disarmingly quickly. He orders tacos and iced tea. He says “thank you” to Farah when she brings his food. Hux, used to food delivered by droids and unable to shed his military training, keeps trying to stand up every time she comes over to our table. I put a hand on his arm to keep him sitting down.

When I give her the creds to pay for our meal, Farah catches my eye and beckons me inside the café. She snatches me out of sight of Hux and Ben as soon as I come in.

“You have to tell me more about your redhead friend,” she says. “He looks like a bracing wind would blow him away, but his accent is dreamy.”

I explain about him being a grad student, but I soon realize she doesn’t really care.

“Now the other one, he’s much more your type, isn’t he? Brooding. And that scar —”

 _“Farah,_ ” I say.

I imagine telling her. Saying, _Farah, my redhead friend is a First Order general — well,_ the _First Order general, to be honest. And the brooding guy? The Supreme Leader. Yeah, they’ve killed lots of people. Like, millions? Billions? Billions. I killed a couple of people with them, too. Oh yeah, and I’m fucking both of them, but that shouldn’t surprise you._

“You should invite me over for drinks,” Farah says.

For the first time since I’ve gotten back from to Gaia, my stomach lurches. “I will, but we still haven’t unpacked, and I have no food in the house to speak of.”

“Really, you just _have_ to have them both to yourself. _Greedy_ ,” she pouts.

“You know me.”

She reaches out and squeezes me on the upper arm. Her eyes grow wide. “ _Damn_ , girl! What were you doing at that spa? You’re totally ripped.”

“Oh… you know… Chandrilan calisthenics. They’re very effective.”

“Apparent _ly_ ,” she says,. “Anyway. Drinks. Soon.”

I nod vaguely and rejoin Ben and Hux, who are whispering aggressively at each other. About what, I don’t know. I start off down the street, not turning back to see if they’re following.

* * *

 _What have I become?_ I wonder as I walk through the farmers’ market between Ben and Hux. Three months gone from this place and already it feels completely wrong. Almost as if being a courtesan plotting galactic domination on a star destroyer is what I was meant to be. The thought dizzies me, and I clutch Ben’s arm for a moment. He looks at me, questioning, but I just shake my head.

We’ve rented one of the stubborn helper bots, and Hux keeps busy ordering it around as we move from stall to stall. A tall, red-haired man barking orders in a clipped Imperial accent at a pony-sized droid does not fail to draw looks. But Hux is more a source of amusement than suspicion.

“This is not good,” Ben mutters to me.

I have to agree with him. I trot over to collect Hux, who is debating earnestly with a small child over whether he should be nicer to the helper bot. It’s the argument on the freighter all over again.

I take him by the arm and lead him away. “People are _noticing_ you,” I say.

“ _People_ have quite sentimental ideas about droids,” he says. “It’s absurd!”

He says the last bit in the direction of the small boy, who sticks out his tongue in response.

“Armitage,” I whisper. “Have you been sampling the wine?”

“A bit.”

“Oh Suns.”

“What _is_ that expression of yours?” he says. “I was half afraid you were going to use it around one of the Grand Admirals, you know. It makes you sound like a Tatooine dancing girl.”

“Maybe that’s because I was _raised_ by a Tatooine dancing girl.”

“Ah, yes.” He nods thoughtfully.

Ben comes over and hauls Hux away from me. I smile and shrug at the vendors in the market whose attention we’ve attracted. They give me knowing smiles in return, and then I trot to catch up with the boys. The helper bot follows me, sullenly.

Ben installs Hux on the same sofa where he passed out in a drugged stupor the last time he was in my house. Millicent slinks out from wherever she was hiding and sits on him.

“Sober him up,” Ben says. “I’m going review the vid from Captain Peavey’s questioning.”

I go to the kitchen to make caff, Ben goes into my room, and after a few minutes, as I’m bringing a mug and a detox pill to Hux, he emerges as Kylo Ren, tugging his gloves into place.

“Oh ho,” Hux whispers to me. “Someone’s a badass.”

I muffle a laugh. Ben shoots us scathing look, and strides past into the studio.

“How much wine _did_ you drink, Armitage?”

“An awful lot, I confess.” He takes the mug from me and sips, then gives me wobbly smile. “Thank you for taking us out. It was most informative.”

“Was it? I knew you’d learn something seeing what people unconcerned with galactic politics are like.”

“Certainly. I will put in orders to the Ministry of Propaganda to ensure _mandatory_ viewing of our vids on _all_ Outer Rim planets. Rallies, perhaps.”

I close my eyes. “Oh, _Armitage_.”

When I open them, he’s looking at me in perfect, resolute earnestness. “I just want to make the galaxy a better place, Miranda,” he says tipsily.

“Of course you do,” I say, patting him on the arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I was going to name Ben's alter-ego Matt?
> 
> The tacos are an homage to The Last Unicorn.
> 
> But this is something I thought about while reading Last Shot by Daniel Jose Older — he includes details like the cartoon baby Ben watches. Being the son of a senator, he didn’t have a typical childhood, but he grew up in a culture full of normal stuff. So, yeah, he knows how to go out to eat at a restaurant and do other normal activities. Hux, on the other hand...
> 
> Bonny Doon is a real place on the northern Central Coast of California. My hippy-ish Shakespeare professor lived there.


	23. As Though Nothing Was Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira, Ben, and Hux question a couple of generals. And two unexpected presences arrive. Three, if you count Millicent, but you should always expect a cat to interrupt you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Transmission” by Joy Division. (See the end notes for a link to my full writing playlist — I’m always adding more songs!)

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

I leave Hux and Millicent and go to my room to dress. Ben’s civilian clothes are folded neatly on the bed. It’s strange to think of him here, putting on the trappings of Kylo Ren. The last time he did so, it was an imperfect transformation — because I had torn his clothes.

I put on my First Order clothes, the close-fitting suit, the belt embroidered with dragons. No shoes, though.  Hux is nursing his caff on the sofa, a bit clearer-eyed now.

In the studio, Ben is sitting, elbows on the table, chin on his interlaced fingers, frowning at the holo figure of a nervous stormtrooper.

“Peavey got nothing useful out of any of them,” he says, not looking up.

“There’s nothing useful _to be got_ from them. They don’t know anything.”

I bring up the report on LX-6492’s and the two dead stormtroopers’ movements and contacts on the small screen and scroll through the list. There’s nothing surprising. Other stormtroopers in their units, their commanders and captains. My name is in the report on LX-6492.

“The First Order knows all,” I say. “It’s hard to believe a plot like this could take place with _no one_ knowing about it.”

“Someone knows,” Ben says. “Whoever planned this didn’t count on us defending Hux,” he says. “They thought they’d kill him and implicate you with a single action.”

“What if…” I sit down next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder, in our old way. “What if it doesn’t really have anything to do with framing me? What if whoever thought they’d implicate me didn’t think it would hurt me, like Hux said? They could have just wanted to get rid of Hux and wanted to pin it on someone who has a motive.”

“And what’s your motive?”

“ _You_.” _You dummy_ , I add inwardly. “Look, some of the guests at the party were clearly divided between those aligned with the military and Hux and those aligned with you. It’s been pulling the First Order apart. We need to question the guests.”

“Interrogate High Command? That’ll only cause more tension.”

“We won’t interrogate them as suspects. We’ll question them as witnesses.”

Ben nods. “Get Hux in here. We need to make a plan.”

* * *

The three of us sit around the table, the way we did when we ate cereal together on the day we left for the _Finalizer._ But everything is so different now. Hux, mostly sober, has changed into his uniform, too, and slicked down his hair. We’ll be connecting with Captain Peavey soon, and we have to look our parts.

We make two lists. Hux and I will question the guests who support him. Ben and I will question the guests who support the Supreme Leader. I’ll be seen as aligned with whomever we’re questioning _wants_ me to be aligned with.

Captain Peavey is not entirely convinced our plan is a good one. I see his eyes drift from Hux’s face, to mine, to Ben’s. He’s studying, trying to ascertain whether we’re as united as we appear to be.

And we do appear to be, with our perfect posture, our gloved, folded hands on the table, which is so small that we’re literally shoulder-to-shoulder. But on my left is Ben’s impatience with the machinations that a few pushes with the Force would render unnecessary; and on my right is Hux’s egotistical belief in his own importance as the target of an assassination attempt nearly masking his anxiety.

And what am _I_ feeling? I recenter my thoughts. I am thinking about how I saved the life of General Armitage Hux, whom the New Republic would surely bring war crimes charges against if the First Order were ever to be defeated. I’m thinking about how it was a display of my own abilities, just as I wished for. I’m thinking about sitting at the right hand of the Supreme Leader, about our proclamation to High Command that we would not hide who we are.

I am feeling my own power.

“Captain Peavey,” I say, “the witnesses will feel freer to talk about what they saw and what they think if they think their questioners are friendly to their interests.”

“Perhaps so, Counselor,” Peavey answers. “However, it may be a detriment to the goal of presenting leadership as being united.”

His voice catches every so slightly on the word “leadership.” Peavey respects me, I sense, but my sudden appearance at the top of the First Order troubles him. Hux, Kylo Ren, and I are the impetuousness of youth, while he is the steady hand of experience.

“Our messaging will be the same,” I say. “We’re trying to uncover this plot against General Hux and bring the conspirators to justice. Those in High Command partial to the Supreme Leader will see us committed to that.”

Peavey nods and looks to Ben for confirmation.

“Counselor Galan and I will question General Kreet first, Captain Peavey,” Ben says.

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Peavey says. “I will have her brought to the brig.”

“Not the brig, Captain,” Hux says. “What impression will that give? Her own guest quarters will make her more comfortable.”

“Yes, sir. I will be connecting her in a moment.”

“Give us ten minutes,” Ben says.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Peavey’s image disappears. I feel my posture collapse somewhat, but I resist my desire to put my head on the table. Ben stands and paces while Hux moves to a chair behind the holo camera, so that he can watch the interrogation without being picked up in the image.

“Ben,” I say, “General Kreet was on the opposite end of the table when LX-6492 attacked Hux. Why are we questioning her first? Madame Ves had a much clearer view of what happened, and she’s more likely to talk, since she’s not used to being questioned by military leaders.”

“Madame Ves was already drunk, like most of the guests,” Ben says. “Kreet wasn’t, and she was watching very intently when the attack happened.”

“She was watching _you_ very intently, you mean,” I say.

“What is that supposed to mean.”

I shake my head and smirk. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“ _Counselor_ ,” he says pointedly, “this is not the time.”

“ _Apologies_ , Supreme Leader. I’ll get myself in the proper state of mind.” I stand and stretch, then bounce a bit as if preparing for sparring. “All right, let’s do this.”

Ben sighs at me.

General Kreet is probably a few years older than Ben and me, with dark blonde hair and pale, almost waxen, skin. She has the upright posture, severe set to her mouth, and almost half-closed eyes that so many First Order officers affect as a defensive posture. They are serious and observant, the expression says, disciplined and ready to give or take orders and action. She looks at the Supreme Leader and me, and I sense that while her sympathies and loyalty are with him, she is unsure about me. As so many are.

So I greet her first. “Hello, General Kreet. Thank you for talking to us. As you can imagine, we’re anxious to get to the bottom of this.”

She nods but doesn’t answer. Instead, she slides her gaze to Ben.

“Supreme Leader, may I speak with you privately?” she asks.

“That’s not necessary,” Ben says. “We want to know what you saw on the night of the attempt on General Hux’s life.”

“Then may I speak frankly, sir? Without fear of reprisal?”

I feel my eyes narrowing and I fight it. Kreet clearly thinks she knows something incriminating about me.

“You may,” the Supreme Leader says.

“I observed Chief Counselor Galen and General Hux during the dinner, and I saw —”

“General Kreet,” Ben interrupts, as Hux shifts slightly in his chair, “before you say something that I will have to overlook, you should know something.”

General Kreet’s expression of resolve fades into one of trepidation. “Yes, Supreme Leader?”

“There are no secrets between the Chief Counselor and myself. So whatever you saw, I saw too. Whatever you think you know, I either already know or know to be incorrect.”

She swallows. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Now, you were saying?”

She bows her head and then slowly raises it again. “Nothing, Supreme Leader.”

“Thank you, General,” Ben says. “Now. Will you tell us what you observed as it relates to the stormtrooper LX-6492 and his attempt on General Hux’s life?”

Kreet blinks, and looks from my image to the Supreme Leader’s. Whatever hope she placed in schemes that would raise her station have been crushed in a moment. This is what power can do, and I’ve done it without saying a word.

So I speak. She is, after all, loyal to the Supreme Leader. “Anything you noticed may be helpful, General. No matter how insignificant it might seem.”

She nods. “Yes, well, there was something — I don’t quite understand it. But, Counselor, when the Supreme Leader presented your — ah….”

“Lightsaber,” I say, trying to keep my tone helpful.

“Yes, your lightsaber. When you took it, I thought I heard — or felt — _something_. It wasn’t quite a sound. It was a vibration, almost.”

The thought passes between Ben and me: _The kyber crystal._

“And when I felt that, I noticed the three stormtroopers who would later attack General Hux. Their posture changed slightly. It stiffened, as if they were anticipating something, I thought they had simply heard what I did, but no one else reacted.”

I feel Ben quickly scan her mind for deception, for anything she may be holding back. Without looking at me, he tells me he has found nothing. But Kreet is watching us both intently now.

“Is there anything you wish to ask us, General?” I say to her.

“Ma’am, if I may — what was it that I felt?”

“Did it frighten you?” I ask.

“No, ma’am. It was almost… joyful.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” I say. “It was the crystal inside my lightsaber — it was humming to welcome its reunion with me.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “The crystal was _welcoming_ you?”

“Most non-Force-sensitive people hear the hum when the sabers are ignited, of course, but they’re not observant enough to feel the crystals otherwise.”

Kreet is _not_ Force-sensitive. I can sense that much. But she is empathetic, a rare trait in First Order officers. This is why she observed the Supreme Leader so closely. She felt the emotions in him, not as clearly as Ben and I can feel such things, but enough to want to understand where they come from. Enough for her to want to help. It’s strange that the troopers would have reacted to it, though — they are not exactly conditioned to be sensitive to others’ feelings. Just the opposite.

“Thank you, General Kreet,” I say. “This could be valuable information.”

She nods, her wariness of me a fraction diminished. I almost wish Ben had let her tell him what she was going to say about Hux and me. _He_ probably knows. But my abilities are not what his are, my skills not as honed. I glance at Hux. He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together. He looks up and meets my eyes.

“You _two_ ,” Ben seethes when the connection with Kreet is closed, “made fucking _spectacles_ of yourselves at that stupid banquet.”

“What? _You_ are accusing _me_?” Hux stands. “When you’re the one who brought out the blasted _lightsabers_ and your ‘ _may the Force be with you_ ’ nonsense?”

I’m am astounded at Hux’s willingness to cross Kylo Ren, even though time and again he’s been punished for it. It isn’t ego or foolishness; I underestimated Hux after we first met. He has a righteous belief in himself that is separate from how he appears to others or what is done to him. He is willing to be punished for what he believes.

“Everything I’ve done is to ensure the continuity and cohesion of the First Order,” Hux continues. “You and the Counselor are playing at something else — making something new, whatever it is you have in mind. But _I_ am the one concerned about _stability_. You would have _chaos_.”

“ _Everything_ you’ve done?” Ben sneers. He looks up at Hux, not needing to rise to intimidate.

“Oh Suns, be quiet,” I say.

“It’s you too, Mira. You two and your knowing banter, your drugs slipped under plate rims. Don’t think people didn’t notice.”

“Well, so what?” I say. “ _Let them notice_. What are they going to do to us? If the three of us are united, they can’t cross us.”

“What are you saying,” Ben says.

“The three of us,” I say again. “It can work.”

“I thought you said triumvirates never work out for the triumvirs,” Hux says.

“I know, I know — but in our case —”

“You said yourself that the problem was built into the model.”

“Dammit, I _know_ , Armitage, but, look.” I get up and start to circle the room, a bad habit I’ve picked up from Ben. “Without you, the military falls out of line, making the Supreme Leader vulnerable. But without the Supreme Leader to back you up, you’re vulnerable to the generals and admirals aligned with him.”

Hux crosses his arms across his chest. “And what about you? Where do you fit in all of this?”

“Well,” I say, suddenly realizing my own vulnerability. “Without me, you two will murder each other and the whole First Order will fall apart.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hux says.

I laugh. It’s absurd, but I see the truth in what I said. “Seriously, though — like you told me, Ben,” I say, turning to him. “People are not going to rally around you — either of you.  Whether any of us like it or not, I’m here for public relations. You don’t have to accept that. If you two can get along and manage the galaxy on brute force alone, I’ll stay here and live out my days on my tidy severance package, going to the farmers’ market on weekends and doing drugs on the floor.”

I don’t really mean it. The truth is that I can’t fathom the thought of returning to this life. I’d rather join the Resistance.

With that thought, the image of Ben’s mother, of Leia, appears clearly in my mind. And then I feel her — her presence in the Force — and I feel her recognize me. And Ben too. For a split second, I am alarmed, but then I remember what I said. She’s not going to call for an action that will kill her own son. And in her presence, I sense that she’s not at all surprised to feel us both, Ben and I, together. There’s a peace in it, almost as if she has gotten confirmation of something she’d hoped for.

Ben’s and my eyes meet across the room. His are full of fear and pain and, nearly, tears. I cross quickly to him and take his hands.

“It’s all right,” I whisper.  “She knows, but we’re safe.”

His hands shake for a moment in mine as if he wants to pull them away. I hold tighter.

“We’re safe,” I repeat. “If anything, we’re safer than we would be if she _didn’t_ know. Do you feel it? There’s so much love.”

He raises his bowed head. He’s blinked away the tears that had threatened to fall. He nods and squeezes my hands. But, also, I feel his push against it, his rejection of that love. But I allow it to fill me with light. _Leia_. She is out there, and she still cares about me.

“Well, once again, I don’t know _what_ is going on,” Hux says, sitting back down at the table. “But, Counselor, I believe we have our own interviews to conduct.”

I touch my forehead to Ben’s lips and then let go of his hands.

“Yes, of course, General. Let’s reconnect with Captain Peavey.”

I sit down next to Hux. I want to give him a friendly nudge, but we are being the First Order General and Counselor right now. I fold my hands on the desk.

“Captain,” Hux says as Peavey’s image appears in front of us, “the next witness for questioning is General Sorod. There is no need to prepare him. Connect us directly with him now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hux turns to me and says, _sotto voce_ , “The trick is to take them off guard.”

General Sorod is hurriedly fastening the belt on his uniform when he appears in front of us.

“General, so good of you to be ready to speak to us,” Hux says with a sneer.

“I apologize, General Hux.”

“Yes, well, if it’s not too _inconvenient_ , we have some —”

Sorod’s image waivers as striped ginger fur passes through it. Millicent turns to Hux and meows a command.

“Blast it, Millie —” he picks her up and sets her on the floor. “Pardon me, General. Now —”

Millicent jumps onto the table again, batting at Hux’s face this time.

“Oh for — she’s hungry, that’s what it is.” Hux catches the eye of the Supreme Leader, who is standing behind the holocamera. “Would somebody — you know…”

Ben’s jaw clenches so tightly that I worry he’s going to crack his teeth. Wordlessly, he crosses to the table, staying out of the holocamera’s range, picks up Millicent, and leaves the room with her under his arm. She yowls in protest.

Hux and I turn our attention back to Sorod. I try to set my face in an expression that says both “ _Cats! What are you gonna do?_ ” and “ _We are investigating an assassination plot and it is a very serious situation_.”

Sorod has used the interruption to finish straightening his uniform and smoothing down his iron-gray hair. He’s a lean man, with hollows in his cheeks, a perfectly trimmed mustache, and flint in his gaze. He is not one to be easily intimidated or won over.

“Hello, General Sorod,” I say. “I’m heartened to see that you’re safe in your quarters on the _Finalizer_. I wish we were speaking again under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Yes, Counselor,” he answers, “this is all very irregular. While I do understand the need to secure the General’s location, I worry that it is not clear why the Supreme Leader did not remain in command of the _Finalizer_.”

“I’m sure you understand,” Hux says, having recovered from Millicent’s distress, “that the Supreme Leader’s decision was in the interest of the security of everyone on board the _Finalizer._ ”

“As soon as the Supreme Leader is satisfied that all conspirators have been detained, he will return,” I say.

“Of course, Counselor,” Sorod says, without emotion.

I sense what his tone doesn’t convey, however — he suspects the Supreme Leader himself of being a conspirator. _The_ conspirator. Ben returns to the studio and, seeing him, I recall a tactic I used when I was trying to earn Hux’s trust.

“Armitage and I —” I begin. “Pardon me, _General Hux_ and I appreciate your agreeing to speak to us, as does the Supreme Leader.”

“Yes, well — I am of course very disturbed by the attempt on the General’s life.” He pauses. “May I ask — where is the Supreme Leader? Is he in the same secure location?”

 _Wouldn’t you like to know_ , I think.

“I assure you, the Supreme Leader is quite safe,” Hux says. “Now, onto the assassination attempt, General?”

As I expected, Sorod did not feel anything out of the ordinary when I took my lightsaber from its case. He did notice that the stormtroopers who attacked Hux all seemed to “activate,” so to speak, at different times, not even drawing their blasters until the previous trooper who had attacked had been killed or disarmed. I think back on the scene, on the trooper who pled with me, the way the attacks had stopped when I deactivated my lightsaber and stood between the troopers and the guests.

“You acted very bravely, if I may say so, Counselor,” Sorod says. “On a personal note — my wife and I have known Armitage since he was a boy, so we are quite relieved he is safe.”

“Thank you, General,” I say, noting that he has picked up my use of Hux’s first name.

I smile and get a look of cautious approval in return. I’ll take it.

“There is something else,” Sorod adds. “General Hux, I noticed that you seemed to be a bit… well, _dazed_ toward the end of the meal. Are you certain the food and drinks were monitored for poison? There could have been something slipped to you to lessen your awareness, or something worse that simply didn’t have the desired effect.”

I suppress a laugh. Hux shifts ever so slightly in his chair next to me.

“No, General — I mean, yes, everything was closely monitored. I’m afraid the Counselor here may have encouraged a bit of overindulgence of the wine on my part.”

I allow myself the laugh this time. “Don’t believe him, General,” I say. “He needed no encouragement. It was his party as much as mine.”

Sorod gives us both the kind of tight, tolerant smile older people give to foolish young people. “Well, I am relieved to hear there isn’t another angle to the threat against you anyway, Armitage.”

When the connection is closed, I push out my chair and drop my forehead to my knees, letting my hands dangle to the floor.

“You may as well be exhausted,” Hux says to me bitterly. He’s remembered that I am the woman who has outraged his dignity. “I expect that was a trying performance.”

I sit back up again. “If it’s easier for you to believe that, Armitage,” I say.

“I’m at a loss over what do believe, honestly,” Hux says.

“Save it,” Ben says to him. He turns to me. “And this charm offensive thing you’re doing—“”

“Is working,” I interrupt.

“If your goal was to make General Sorod thinks you’re a silly girl, then, yes, it is,” Ben says.

“He thinks I’m a girl so silly over Armitage that I’ll stop blaster bolts for him.”

“ _I_ stopped that blaster bolt.”

“Sorod doesn’t know that. Besides, _who_ blocked the other two? After not using a lightsaber in eight years?”

Ben closes his eyes. I swear I can almost hear him counting to ten. I appreciate the effort.

“Suns, it’s late,” I say.  “And I’m hungry again. Should we take a —”

As I stand to go to the kitchen, there’s loud pounding on my front door. I freeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mira is getting a bit of that hubris. She should know better, having read Shakespeare.
> 
> Next chapter: You’ll find out who is banging on the door.


	24. Hope for the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Ben are wholly unprepared for unexpected visitors at Mira’s bungalow. Mira discovers uncomfortable truths about how familiarity sometimes breeds just the opposite of contempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! I’m trying my best to keep ahead of my posting schedule in my writing, and they keep me motivated.
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “My Beautiful Sinking Ship” by Devics. Its time signature is 3/4, the significance of which will be revealed in the chapter.
> 
> Another song for this chapter: “The Man with the Child in His Eyes” by Kate Bush

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

I lock eyes with Ben as the banging at the door continues. As if by instinct, we take positions at the two entry points to the studio — me at the double doors that lead to the great room, and Ben at the door that opens onto the hallway between the studio and the kitchen.

The pounding at the door starts up again, practically rattling it on its hinges. I tilt my head to to Ben to indicate for him to cover me as I go to check who it is.

I hedge toward the door and quickly look through the peephole.

“Fuck!” I whisper. “Shit shit shit.”

I wave _go back_ at Ben and Hux, who has come of the studio as well.

“Izzy!” comes Farah’s voice from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there — you blocked the light in the peephole. Open up, I bear gifts!”

Ben and Hux both drop out of their defensive postures.

“Hold on!” I call. “We’re — I’m not decent!”

“When are you _ever_?” Farah says. “Come on, this stuff is heavy!”

I look down in alarm at my First Order uniform. I start stripping it off as I head to my bedroom. Ben and Hux stand staring at me stupidly.

“ _Go!_ ” I whisper to them. “Get out of those clothes, quick.”

Hux grins at the double meaning and I swat at him. “ _Now,”_ I say.

I find my dressing gown and manage to get it around myself at the same time as I kick my uniform under the bed. Ben comes in, unfastening those stupid myriad hooks on his tunic. I close the door behind me as I leave the room. Hux has sensibly retreated into the guest room and closed the door. I run and close the doors to the studio.

“Iz!” Farah yells. “What the hell are you doing?” She adds, “Oh wait, do we want to know?” and it’s followed by laughter.

“Farah,” I say as I open the front door, “what have you —“”

She’s standing on the porch, holding a paper grocery bag in each arm. Behind her are about a dozen other people, all bearing several bottles.

“I brought food,” she says. “And booze. And people!”

“So I see.” I stand back from the door. “Well, you may as well come in.”

“You didn’t think you could come back without me throwing a welcome home party, did you?” Farah says. She kicks off her shoes. “Shoes off, everyone! She’s weird about that.”

“I’m not—”

I receive a bottle of wine and a kiss on the cheek from one of our friends before I follow Farah to the kitchen. A girl in a shiny, color-changing minidress is already setting up speakers on the kitchen table and scrolling through a playlist on a holo screen.

“Where are your friends?” Farah asks.

“Resting,” I say.

“Oh! _Resting._ Of course.”

“Far —”

Just then Hux emerges from the guest room, looking around in complete confusion at the bustle of people and the bottles and hors d'oeuvres being laid out on the table. He’s barefoot, wearing his civilian clothes slightly too neatly and his hair still precisely parted.

Fortunately, Millicent chooses that moment to leap onto his shoulder and hiss her general disapproval. She puts her paws on his head, mussing his hair.

“Damn it all, Mil—“” Hux struggles to dislodge her.

Farah materializes by his side. “Aww, is she yours, Wil?”

“As loath as I am to claim ownership of such a ill-behaved animal, yes, she is.”

Farah giggles as Hux holds Millicent at arm’s length and glares at her disapprovingly before setting her down. Millie slinks back into the guest room with an air of indifference.

I give Hux a squeeze on the arm before I go to return to my room. He looks at me with the expression of a drowning man.

“Don’t worry, he’s safe with me,” Farah says. “You need to put some clothes on.”

Ben, sitting on the far side my bed, only half-dressed, looks up as the thumping from the music comes through the door as I open it. I close it, muffling the beat once again.

“What _is_ this,” he says. He pushes his hair off his face as he looks up at me.

“A party.”

“Another one.”

“What can I say? People like to fête me.”

“Mira…” He sighs.

I crawl across the bed to him, letting my dressing gown fall open. “Don’t worry,” I say and bite him gently on his bare shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

“There are a dozen people out there.”

“Oh, poor Ben Solo. He’s never sneaked off during a party to have sex,” I say in my old teasing tone from the Temple.

He shifts to turn toward me and pulls the dressing gown off my shoulders.

“You enjoy having more expertise than me for once, don’t you?” he says with his half-smile. “But you know I’m a fast learner.”

He pulls me to him in a kiss, encircling me with his arms. The day of being the Supreme Leader and Chief Counselor Galan falls away as I melt into him, and we’re Ben and Mira again. He presses me down into the bed with his kisses and pushes his palm into my breasts, circling the hardening nipples with his thumb as his mouth finds its way to my throat. The warmth of his breath on my skin makes me shudder and nearly fall apart as his teeth press into my flesh. I can’t hold back a little cry of delight, and he pulls away from me to smile at what he’s accomplished. I put my hand on the back of his head, twining my fingers in his hair, and pull him back toward me. I hadn’t realized I wanted him so much.

His hand on my breast strays down, across my belly and between my legs. For a fraction of a second, he teases, hovering his fingers just above where he knows I long for him to touch. And then his fingers are parting me tenderly, stroking the swollen glans of my clitoris with his thumb. His fingertips slide inside me, then press deeper as my breath catches. By the time he is stroking his hand in and out of me two knuckles deep, I am already coming.

And before the first orgasm settles and the second begins, the head of his cock — I didn’t even notice him strip off the rest of his clothes — has taken the place of his hand. I smirk at him, panting, as I put my legs around his waist and unite our bodies.

The effect is instantaneous — for both of us. The moan in my throat feels as if it started deep inside of me, where the end of his cock is touching the mouth of my womb. It seems to go on forever, but then feel him throbbing in unison as I contract around him. He holds my face in his hands as he comes, gasping my name as his body spasms, and then folds his arms around me, so my cheek is against his flushed chest, my arms around his waist.  We stay like this, breathing, until the sound of the party picking up energy begins to thump through the door.

I collapse onto my bed, which I must admit, feels familiar and comforting, and let out a contented sigh.

“Why are you so good at everything you do?” I ask.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” I say. “You always have been.”

He ducks his head. “This doesn’t count.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, walking my fingers up Ben’s arm. “‘ _The student becomes the master_ ’ and all that.” I sit up. “Though for the full house party experience, the bed should be covered in other people’s coats.”

“You act like I’ve never been to a party before.”

“I guess it depends,” I say, thinking of the few soirées I went to at his family’s swank apartment in the capital on Chandrila and the time Lando Calrissian flirted shamelessly with my mother. Probably more than flirted. “Ben Solo or Kylo Ren? Who are you right now?”

He looks at me almost shyly, waves of dark hair covering the side of his face with the scar, his chest rising and falling as he breathes — one, two, three times.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Whoever I am, I’m yours.”

* * *

I must be exuding a certain postorgasmic shine when we emerge from my room because Farah immediately gives me a wide grin and a thumbs up when she sees us. Ben’s cheeks glow red, even in the dimmed lights.

She hands me a red plastic cup filled nearly the brim with red wine. I quaff nearly half of it rapidly as I dance with her. She’s had the DJ queue up my favorite songs, and we dance until we’re out of breath and shining with perspiration. Farah is wearing a short, skin-tight dress, spangled silver, and she glints in the colored lights that spin at the DJ’s station. Her hair is braided and wound around her head — a style that reminds me of Leia, back in my Chandrila days.

Hux is hovering near the wall in the great room. All my furniture and cushions have been pushed aside to make room for dancing. I catch his eye as I’m wiping a trickle of wine from my lip. I don’t understand his expression at first, but then I realize — he is thinking of me in the corridor of the freighter, when I wiped Ben’s blood off my lips.

_Vampire. Nightsister. Witch. Concubine. Whore._

_“What must he think of me,”_ I said once. It feels like a thousand years ago. And now I know.

Hux blinks, and then, a bit wobbly, crosses the room to me. And even though Ben stands not five feet from us, he puts his hands on my waist.

“Dance with me,” he says earnestly, his green eyes reflecting the warmth of the room. He smells nice, like brandy and warm summer air.

“Feel free,” I say, smiling. I dance myself a little closer to him and sing the refrain at the end of the song to him.

 _Oh, you've got green eyes,_  
_Oh, you've got blue eyes_  
_Oh, you've got grey eyes_  
_Oh, you've got green eyes_  
_Oh, you've got blue eyes_  
_Oh, you've got grey eyes_  
_And I've never seen anyone quite like you before  
_ _No, I've never met anyone quite like you before_

He ducks his head, his cheeks flushing. “No, no, you don’t understand.” The music is loud, but he’s put his lips almost against my ear. It is as if we are standing alone, in a bubble of our own. “I had planned dancing — at your party. Formal dancing. But my plans went awry, as they so often do.”

I set down my drink on a console table that also holds a hookah, a glass bong, empty bottles, a Tatooine fertility goddess sculpture, a holophoto of my mother and me, and several sets of keys belonging to my guests. I put my left hand on his shoulder. I hold out my right, and he takes it in his.

I smile up at him, and then yell out over the music, without looking away, “Put something in three-four on, would you?”

The message gets relayed across the room, and there’s a pause as the DJ browses the songs, and then a beat starts, with a wail of singing over it and the jangling of nomad percussion. But the time signature and tempo are right, and as if we had practiced for this moment, Hux bows as I curtsy, and then we are suddenly waltzing around the small expanse of my bungalow’s great room.

My guests look on in delight and clap, and I am laughing. My eyes meet with Ben’s as we turn past him, and I am almost shocked as I feel no anger, no jealousy from him. He is watching in a kind of puzzled empathy at my joy in this moment.

“You certainly took a chance,” I say to Hux, who is still looking at me earnestly. “What if I didn’t know how to waltz?”

“Don’t,” he says.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t flirt with me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t —“”

“I want to see how you look at me when you’re serious.”

His words, his expression, are so unexpected that I grant his desire without even having to try. I study him as we dance. Not just his face as he looks at me, but his hands — one placed just so on my waist, the familiar weight of it pleasant through the thin fabric of my dress; the other with its unexpectedly delicate fingertips resting on my palm; the smooth movements of his legs against mine as we glide on the hardwood floor on our bare feet; the way he’s guided us into an almost drowsy rise and fall that our breath falls into tempo with.

The song ends. Our dance ends. Around us, my friends clap and laugh, as if this were an entertainment for them.

We face each other wordlessly for a moment before the DJ brings her setlist back on.

I smile at him.

“We would have been dancing with our gloves and your uniform and that ridiculous train on my gown,” I say. “With stuffy admirals and stiff generals all around us. I liked this much better.”

He nods, and then takes my hand and presses it to his lips. And without a word, he walks away from me.

I turn back to Ben, his pale face stark as he stands in a shadow in his black clothes. I slide myself by his side, holding his hand as I lean my shoulder against his arm.

“Why do you look at him like that?” he asks.

It isn’t a flat Kylo Ren question or an accusation. It is Ben, not hurt but curious, and not understanding what is in my mind right now. He used to ask me questions like this at the temple — _What is it about Silla’s defensive form that’s making you watch him so closely? Why are you so interested in those birds?_ And once: _Mira, why are you looking at me like that?_ And I didn’t say _Because I love you._ Would everything be different if I had?

“I think…” I say. “I think, sometimes, I see the same thing in his eyes that I see in yours.”

“And what’s that?”

“The boys you used to be.”

“That’ll be your downfall.”

“I know. And maybe I can live with that.”

He squeezes my hand. “Go ahead and have fun with your friends.”

“Come with me,” I say. “Meet them. Dance with me.”

He shakes his head. “You know that’s not who I am. Not me or the boy that I was.”

I put my cheek against his shoulder. “Oh, Ben Solo,” I sigh. “Why did you ever go away?”

He doesn’t hear me over the music.

I give him a squeeze, tell him, “Be sure to eat something,” then retrieve my cup of wine, and head over to Farah, who is dancing while holding her own cup over her head. She picks up a stack of tiny sandwiches from the table, dances over to me, and hands them to me, amiably grinding her ass into my hip. As I eat the sandwiches, she turns to shout conversation that may as well be private, since no one else can hear her over the music.

“That was quite the show,” she says, glancing at Hux, who is pouring himself another drink in the kitchen. “But you and the mysterious Bail in the shadow over there — you’re two of a kind,” she says, playfully tugging at the black kimono embroidered with chrysanthemums that I’m wearing over a short black slip dress. Hux uses the same phrase to describe Ben and me. “Things seem like they’re pretty serious between you two.”

“They are, rather,” I say between bites.

“ _They are, rather,”_ she mimics. “But you’re talking like Mr. Imperial Holdover over there,” she says, tipping her head toward Hux, who is, I see with alarm, now _talking_ to someone in that Imperial way he has, with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Don’t make fun,” I say. “He can’t help what kind of background he comes from. He tries.”

“I’m not making fun,” she says. “I quite like his manner of speaking.” She says the last part in a laughable approximation of an Imperial accent.

“Oh, go do that for him,” I say. “He’ll be impressed.”

She scoffs. “Believe me, nothing I do will impress him. I’ve spent this whole time trying to talk to him, and I can’t make any progress.”

“And why’s that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s _in love_ with you, dummy.”

I am so startled that I stop dancing. I feel the blood and heat rising to my cheeks, the rush in my ears.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she says. “You were the one waltzing with him just now.”

I finish my wine and sway a bit. I was wrong — about the words I thought he’d use for me. I think of his own word, from one of the days when we lounged naked in his room for an afternoon, speaking of nothing very serious. _Lover._

“Iz? You all right?”

“I think…” I say. “I think I need to smoke _a lot_ of weed.”

She laughs. “Well, you’re in the place to do it.”

“Join me?”

“You know it.”

I stride over to the far side of the great room, retrieve the glass bong from the console, and call out, “ _WHO HAS DRUGS?_ ”

Many people do, as it turns out. Ben is in sitting in a lounge chair, keeping vigil. I sit down on his lap as I take the first hit from the bong and then pass it to Farah. I lean back on him, holding it in, then exhale toward the ceiling.

I nestle my head on Ben’s shoulder and he puts his arm around my waist. We are a couple at a party, just like couples who are at parties all over the galaxy. I brush my fingers over his lips.

“Do you know what we — the other girls and I — called you, at the Temple?” I ask.

“No.”

“Beautiful Ben.”

“Ssshh.”

“No one can hear me.” I put my lips closer to his ear, though, and lower my voice. “We all called you that, but only I get to have you.” And then, as if my mind is rebelling against my happiness, I hear myself say, “Though I have an unfair advantage, seeing as I’m the only one you didn’t kill.”

“Mira.”

I push my face back into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s just that — it won’t let me forget.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “I’m tired. I’m going to go lie down.”

“Ben —”

“No, it’s all right. I know what scars are like. But, Mira…”

I push away from him to look at his face. “What?”

His gaze is unwavering, solemn. “You’re not…..”

In the fog of the party and the drugs, I don’t hear him clearly. And then it’s lost, the meaning too large for me put my mind around in that moment. Ben sees that, and kisses me, lightly, a show of affection among other people that he’s never allowed himself before.

“Good night,” he says.

I slide off his lap, dazed, onto the cushions Farah has scattered on the floor. I settle in before taking another hit from the bong, which has made its way around again. I watch him walk to my room, his dark silhouette receding from me the way it did on my first day on the _Finalizer_.

And this is how the party winds down, with a group of us sprawled on the cushions, watching the others dance. More people have arrived since I let everyone in earlier, I notice. I take a sharp look at the closed doors of the studio, which, unbeknownst to my guests, is the temporary Command Central for the Supreme Leader of the First Order. But the doors are locked, and all is safe, I tell myself.

Hux, drawn to the smoke, comes over and lies with his head in my lap, contentedly looking up at me, his hands folded on his chest. I put my hand on his forehead, fingers absently dabbling in the silky flop of his ginger hair.

 _This mad, strange man_ , I think. I trace the the high ridges of his cheekbones, the full pink curve of his lip. And I know in this moment, that if I didn’t love Ben Solo with every part of my being, if the Force didn’t bind him to me like part of myself — in a world where such things didn’t happen to me, if I weren’t Force sensitive, if I were just a woman who had met an ordinary man, at a bar or at the market — then what I feel for Armitage Hux could have passed for love. If he weren’t here, I would miss him. If I had to kill him, the sadness would stay with me a long time.

 _How dare I?_ The part of me that is still a Jedi flares in protest. I can feel the sadistic love of power in him, a constant, simmering presence even now, even as we gaze at each other for all to see. I tell myself he has called people like me vermin, that he has ravaged populations to feed the First Order. But his eyes are fixed on mine, and he never did any of that to _me_.

I think of what I told Hux, that first time in his quarters: _A Jedi learns to compartmentalize._ This is how the Jedi fell.

And yet.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess what kind of red plastic cups those are? THAT’S RIGHT
> 
> Yeah, I know the waltz was corny as hell. But why write fic if not to indulge in that sort of silliness sometimes? I had in mind the scene in Gone with the Wind (yeah, I KNOW) when Rhett bids to dance with Scarlett. “You do waltz divinely, Captain Butler,” she says, to which he answers, “Don’t start flirting with me; I’m not one of your plantation beaux.” More importantly, though, it’s a callback to the first time we see Mira talk to Hux in the first chapter, and he’s disappointed when she stops flirting with him. Character development!
> 
> The particular silliness with Hux is what I described as a First Order rumspringa quite a few weeks back on my fic twitter (@Zippa6). He's had such a regimented life since childhood that at the first glimmers of freedom he's in the midst of a delayed adolescence.
> 
> The lyrics that Mira sings to Hux are from "Temptation" by New Order, a song that encapsulates the mood that I'm going for in this and the next couple of chapters.
> 
> Next chapter: Breakfast. And restlessness sets in.


	25. Too Jaded to Question Stagnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our trio has breakfast after a party that went far better than the last one they went to. Captain Peavey is suspicious. Mira gets restless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “The Lazy Sunbathers” by Morrissey.
> 
> By the way, I updated chapter 24 with some song lyrics if you want to peek back at the scene when Hux is dancing with Mira.

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

We sleep like puppies on the cushions, as Ben, Hux, and I slept the night of the last party for me, the night when someone tried to kill Hux.

Or perhaps I should say like kittens, because Millicent emerged at some point during the night. Finding her human supine on the floor, she curled up on his chest with her chin on his shoulder. I’m lying next to Hux, my hand resting on his hip, and Farah is perpendicular to me, our hair — hers has escaped from its plaits — brushing against each other’s. Our friend and reliable curator of the finest drugs, Rafe, is asleep on the sofa. Short and squat, with a neck like a tree trunk, he snores softly. His boyfriend, whose name I can’t remember, sleeps with his head on the opposite arm of the sofa.  His hand dangles on the floor, right next to the end of a joint that’s been crushed out on my hardwood floor. I sigh and ease myself up.

Ben is in my room. I sense him there before I see him, as I trudge in in my wrinkled dress, a glass of water in my hand. He is lying on my bed, awake. I sit down and guzzle down the water.

“Suns, my head,” I say.

“I thought you said you were going to be a hermit like Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Ben says.

“I said Leia and I _joked_ about it. And I probably would have been, but I made friends with Farah, and she’s just not a live-and-let-hermit kind of person.”

“You’re not very good at hiding.”

“We can’t all take up wearing masks and cowls.”

He frowns up at the ceiling and then turns toward me.

“You should consider it. You look terrible,” he says.

“Nice comeback.”

I wander into the bathroom. He’s right. The remains of my make-up are smeared around my eyes and my hair is in tangles. My eyes, still half-glazed, seem to be trying to tell me something. I smell like weed and wine and sweat. A shower soon cures all that, though.

I sit at the foot of my bed in my dressing gown, pulling my damp hair up into a ponytail. “What’s on the agenda today, Supreme Leader?”

“Quiet,” he says. “There are _people_ here.”

“Oh, right! You mean the people passed out in senseless states of unconsciousness on my floor? Very danger. Much threat.”

“You have to get them out of here.”

“Well, the quickest way to do that is breakfast. You’re recruited for this mission, soldier.”

He sighs.

I throw on a clean dress and go out. Ben follows me, loping in his bare feet. The house is a mess, but I’ve seen worse. I clear a spot on the counter and take eggs out of the refrigerator.

“Crack, beat, season,” I command, giving Ben a bowl and a whisk.

The smell of food cooking predictably wakes everybody, and by the time they’ve pulled themselves upright and helped to clear off the table, there’s a respectable breakfast to put on it. Hux puzzles at the sight of the Supreme Leader setting a platter of scrambled eggs on the table while I dole out caff and detox tabs. I almost laugh. Breakfast is a great leveler, I think, remembering the strange scene at my table that first morning after they arrived. Farah watches the three of us keenly as we eat, her eyes following as Hux butters a piece of toast and gives it to me before taking a piece for himself, as Ben and I communicate a thought without speaking. She’s like General Kreet, observant and empathetic — but what is she understanding from what she sees?

Rafe and his boyfriend do the dishes and carry out the bags of trash before they leave. I give Hux and Ben with instructions to move the furniture back in place while I walk Farah down the drive.

“You’ve gotten yourself into a situation with those two,” she says to me once we’re out of earshot of the house.

“You know me and situations,” I say.

“No, I’m serious. Poor Wil, he was doing that drunken confession thing last night, all, _But I don’t know what she really feels about me_ at me. I said, ‘Dude, I’m new to this boy-juggling act of hers, so I don’t know either’ but I really felt for him, you know?”

 _Poor Hux_. And poor Farah, fallen into his earnest, green-eyed, ginger trap. I wonder, not for the first time, how many girls have been caught in it, only to be discarded immediately after he got what he wanted from them. Farah might have been one of them, under different circumstances.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“No shit. But you can deal with that, I get it. But can _they_ ? I’ll answer that for you because I learned a little about boys when I was supposed to be one — no, they can _not._ ”

 _You wouldn’t care so much about their feelings if you knew who they really are_ , I think.

“You’re such a good person, Farah,” I say.

“And so are you, that’s the thing. You’ll figure it out.”

 _You wouldn’t say that if you knew who_ I _really am._

She gives me a kiss on the cheek and then a little wave as she trots off. I walk back to the bungalow slowly, picking a few yellow wildflowers as I go. It’s gotten too hot for the poppies. I missed the end of their season while I was on the _Finalizer_.

* * *

Ben and Hux are sitting in the living room studying their datapads when I come back in. I sense a curious detente between them as Ben responds with a nod to something Hux has said — no disdainful sneer from Hux, no long, studied glare from Ben. I approach almost with trepidation, afraid to break whatever spell they’re under. Hux sits on an armchair, with Millicent perched on its back. Ben is on the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him. They both wear their civilian clothes with their First Order expressions. The spinning of the ceiling fan slightly ruffles their hair.

Hux notices me and moves to stand, but I hold my hand up to stop him. My datapad is on the coffee table. I set down the flowers and pick it up before I sit down on a wicker rocking chair, cross-legged. There’s a new report from Captain Peavey, cross-referencing the TIE pilots’ contacts with those of the stormtroopers. There are only five, and they’ve been detained for questioning.

I lean back in the rocking chair and look at the ceiling for a moment.

“Is it just me, or did it seem like those three TIEs weren’t trying to destroy the freighter?” I ask.

“They _couldn’t_ have destroyed the freighter, not with its modifications and me piloting it,” Ben says.

“ _I_ was piloting it,” I remind him. “But in any case, they must have just been trying to _stop_ us, not kill us. Because whoever is trying to kill you isn’t trying to kill Hux too, and whoever is trying to kill Hux isn’t trying to kill you — and they couldn’t have done it anyway. At most they could have disabled us. They just wanted us back on the _Finalizer_.”

“We don’t know that,” says Hux.

I lean farther back and press my fingertips to my eyes. “We don’t know _anything._ This is ridiculous. The First Order is the biggest information machine in the galaxy, and we’re picking through data by hand.”

“Hold on —” Ben begins.

I don’t. “It’s exhausting! Literally _everyone_ in the galaxy has a motive for killing either of you. Or both of you. And I’m—”

“ _Mira_.” Ben holds up a hand. He’s not quieting me with the Force, but he might as well be. “ _Machines_. We’ve run reports on all the people whom LX-6492 interacted with, but not computers, not droids.”

He stands and walks to the studio door. I follow him.

“Ben,” I say.

“I’m contacting Captain Peavey,” he says.

“But Ben —”

“I can’t believe we overlooked this—”

“ _Supreme Leader._ ”

He looks up

“Your clothes. _You._ ”

He’s wearing a dark olive green shirt, unfastened at the neck, and he hasn’t shaved. Already, he is Ben Solo again and unaware that he should be someone else. He presses his hands into the table and looks at them for a moment. I can see the transformation in the set of his shoulders and jaw before he stands and brushes past me and out of the room.

I sit back down in the rocking chair, but I don’t bother with my datapad this time. Hux and Millicent ignore me. I feel like a superfluous component in the proposed Supreme Leader-Chief Counselor-General leadership triangle. Yesterday, I felt like I couldn’t return to life as a regular person after being what I was in the First Order. Now, the First Order feels like it did for all these years — something faraway and uninterested in me.

I look at Hux as he reads. The light from the window catches in his hair and burnishes it like gold. His white shirt hangs loosely on his shoulders, allowing him to almost lounge as he sits, in contrast to his upright posture in his uniforms. I don’t know if what Farah says is true. She thinks it’s true because she doesn’t know who he is, what he is. Armitage Hux doesn’t fall in love. Love is superfluous and chaotic.

Something in my brain tells me it’s time to self-destruct. I know this, and yet I do it anyway.

“Armitage,” I say.

“What is it, Counselor?” He doesn’t look up from his datapad.

“Have you ever swam in an ocean?”

He looks at me now. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because,” I say, “there’s an ocean just about half a klick from here. You hear it, right? We should go swimming.”

“Not the time, Counselor. I’m going to join the Supreme Leader in speaking to Captain Peavey.”

He stands and goes to the guest room. I smile to myself, however, because I know I’ve implanted an idea that will niggle at him for the rest of the day.

“What’s funny?”

It’s Ben, coming into the room in his uniform, pushing his hair off his forehead — unsuccessfully.

“Wouldn’t you like —”

“To know,” he interrupts. “ _Yes_ , that’s why I asked.”

I sigh. “Nothing. Just exerting my influence over Hux, as you ordered.”

“It wasn’t an order.”

“Of course, Supreme Leader.”

He nods at me. “Will you be joining me too, Counselor?”

It’s not really a question. I stand, brushing down my dress.

“Yes, I will. One moment.”

And with that, he draws me out of the beginning of what was going to become a serious sulk and back into a purpose. How easy it is, I think as I strip off my dress and enclose myself in the First Order trappings, fastening my tunic closed with a dozen tiny hooks, for him to make me one of them again. I need so much for him to need me.

We meet in the studio. The air conditioning is whirring, but we’re all too warm in our gaberwool.

“Counselor,” Peavey says to me, “I’ve sent you the list of our pharmaceutical contacts, as requested.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Is there something you want to ask me, Captain?”

He puts his hands behind his back and bounces on his heels slightly. “Counselor, may I inquire _why_ you requested these contacts? I looked over your questioning of General Sorod. General Hux said there was no chance of him being drugged.”

“Yes, but this is for another matter, Captain,” I say.

“I don’t want you to risk disclosing your location because of your… proclivities.”

 _Yes, everyone knows the Chief Counselor’s '_ _proclivities'_ _,_ I want to say.

“Captain Peavey,” the Supreme Leader says, “there will be no breach of security.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader, I didn’t—”

“Good. Let’s move on then.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Ben orders him to run a report on LX-6492’s interactions with droids and computers. Hux orders more of his beloved psych evaluations to be performed on the stormtroopers who are in detention.

“They’ll have to be reconditioned after all this is cleared up,” Hux says. “If not decommissioned altogether. A damned waste.”

Predictably, the five contacts in common with the pilots and troopers have nothing to offer in ways of insight. They’re unaware that there was even an attempt on Hux’s life — somehow rumors haven’t spread as they usually do. They only know that the _Finalizer_ is in lockdown. By the time we tell Peavey to keep us informed of any new developments and close the connection, we’re sweating in our uniforms.

We leave the stuffy studio for the great room, not even looking at each other. Hux and Ben tug off their gloves. I flop down onto the armchair that Hux had been sitting in and start unfastening my tunic.

“It’s too hot for interrogating,” I say.

“You’re from Tatooine,” Ben says flatly.

“It’s not just the heat, I guess,” I say. “It’s that everything is so spectacularly _useless_.”

Hux half-glares at me, then sighs. “I understand your frustration, Miranda, but we have to remain vigilant. There is still other First Order business we need to attend to. You’re not accustomed to the rigors of military discipline, but —”

“Oh, cut it out, Armitage. I was a fucking _Jedi_.” I lock eyes with him and call my datapad from the table into my hand without breaking my gaze. “Don’t patronize me.”

With that, I pull the rest of the stifling gaberwool off of my body, fold my uniform, and sit cross-legged on the chair. Hux looks distrustfully at the wicker rocking chair and decides to sit on the sofa with Ben instead. Ben, without even looking, scoots away from him, even though there’s enough room for a Wookiee between them. I try to read for a few minutes and fail to process any of the sentences. I set down my datapad and stand.

“I’m going to the beach,” I announce.

Ben raises his eyes. “I told you this isn’t a vacation.”

“It’s the weekend,” I say.

“What’s a weekend?” Hux asks.

“You see?” I say to Ben. “It’s sad.”

Ben flops his head back and looks at the ceiling. “Do what you want.”

I kiss him on the forehead. “That’s the way to supreme lead, Supreme Leader.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another callback to the first chapter — when Mira needles Kylo Ren about never having to make his own breakfast.
> 
> Mira and Farah really need to pass the Bechdel test. They will, eventually — promise.
> 
> I think it's significant that, a couple of times now, Mira has to call Ben "Supreme Leader" to get his attention when he's distracted, don't you?
> 
> And, yes, that was a Downton Abbey reference.
> 
> Next chapter: The beach!


	26. You Disturb My Natural Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira, Ben, and Hux are taking a break from investigating the attempt on Hux’s life. At the beach. A confession, political arguments, and some beach bums whom Ben finds... familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Ever Fallen in Love (with Someone You Shouldn’t)” by the Buzzcocks. Check out the link to my writing playlist in the end notes! I’m always adding more songs.

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

I fasten a sunscreen band around Hux’s wrist as we leave the house.

“You’ll burn to a crisp without this,” I say.

I carry a canvas bag stuffed with towels and drugs and Hux has a cooler full of sandwiches and water and fruit. Ben walks behind us with a giant beach umbrella.

“Only a couple of hours,” he says to me. “Mira, you can’t forget yourself here.”

“I can whatever the fuck I want to here,” I say cheerily. “I’ve been doing First Order work nonstop for three months. Maybe that’s all right for you two, but if an assassination attempt isn’t enough for you to think maybe there’s more to life than grabbing power, I can’t help you.”

“Are you giving me your professional advice, Counselor?” he drawls at me.

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” I clip back, Imperial-style.

And then, as we reach the crest of the hill I break out into a run on the path down to the ocean. It crashes here, loud and powerful, smashing into the sand and then sucking at it as it withdraws. I  pull off my sandals when I reach the sand and run with them in my hand. I drop them at the top of a dune, and then my dress beside them. The only other people on the beach are far away, dots on the sand.

I’m hip-deep in the water by the time Ben and Hux catch up, gasping each time the cold water laps against me. Kelp tangles around my ankles. I pull I up and drape it over my shoulders.

Hux approaches with trepidation, Ben watching with amusement behind him. They’ve taken off their shirts and are wearing swim trunks that were shoved in a drawer where I keep such things that may be handy someday. Hux is slight and pale, his arms crossed on his chest as he steps tentatively into the water. Ben’s skin, I know from our childhoods, will become a golden brown if he stays in the sun long enough. I’m used to seeing his scars, but Hux is not, for all that he was the one who pulled Ben from the snow after the girl nearly killed him. He looks at Ben from the corner of his eye, with a kind of horrified awe that someone could survive such injuries.

“You never answered me,” I say to Hux, “when I asked if you’ve swum in an ocean.”

He puts his hand on his hips, inching forward. “No, I haven’t.”

“Come closer.”

“I didn’t expect it to be so… cold.” A wave breaks against him. “And move...ment...y.”

“You have to get past where the waves break,” I say. “Then you can properly swim. I’ll go with you, when you’re ready.”

Ben strides forward through the waves, like some kind of mythical creature who is part of nature. I remember this, too, when we were on Chandrila, how he could be still and silent in the woods, or run as if leaping over the grass like a deer, or climb trees, hauling me up when I got tired, so we could watch the sunset from among the tops of the rustling firs. First Order star destroyers and his cruelly sleek shuttle craft and TIE silencer have become his milieu as Kylo Ren, but out here, his body remembers who he used to be.

I wrap him in the kelp to pull him to me. He puts his hands on my hips. The water rushes around us, spray clinging to our skin. On my tiptoes, I lick the salt water from his cheek.

“Aren’t you glad you came out?” I say.

“Your influence is insidious,” he says.

“So your generals say, but I thought you like it when I use my power.”

“Your power won’t be power over anything if we lose the First Order.”

“You know how it is,” I say. “You always lose _something_ at the beach.”

He nudges me as a wave comes in and it topples me from my feet. I come up gasping and laughing, my arms around his knees. His flesh, cold from the water, feels as solid and heavy as marble, but I manage to pull him down with me, getting my knees on either side of his chest, our fingers intertwined. I raise my eyes toward the horizon and squint.

“Oh, that idiot,” I say.

“I don’t need to know _which_ idiot you’re talking about it,” Ben says.

Hux has swum out far beyond where the waves break. I see his white body bob and the glint of sun on his hair. It’s not wildly dangerous, but he’s a pool swimmer and there’s an undertow.

“Hold on,” I say, and dive under an incoming wave.

Underwater is a strange place for someone from a desert planet to feel at home, but I do. This is where my mother’s people were from, after all. The ocean is like a huge bacta tank for me, I’ve said. If I am hurt or sad or tired, it can heal me. Now, I am unsure what it can do for me. I’m not even conflicted because that implies I know I can choose, rather than being swept along with events, like those sea creatures that have no self-propulsion and simply drift with the currents.

Under the water is grayness and the rush of water pressing into my ears, more profound than silence. I love the briny taste of the water, the salt burning my eyes. I love the way I smell after I come from the ocean and how my hair tangles into waves. How could I have forgotten this, thinking I could live in the black and gray of space, the angles of the _Finalizer?_

When I come up for air, I’m just a few meters from Hux. He’s floating on his back, paddling every now and then to keep himself above the water, his eyes closed, his breath deep. I swim over to him.

“Armitage,” I say, treading water.

He opens his eyes and the sky is reflected in them, and then he turns to me and they are the ocean itself. I say nothing for a moment, just so I can look at his earnest, inquiring face.

“All right?” I finally ask.

“I _am_ an accomplished swimmer, you know,” he says.

“You look like more of an accomplished floater right now.”

“Did you think you would come out here and have to rescue me?”

“No. I was just.. checking.”

“Go back to Ren.”

“Do you really want me to?”

“No. But you do.”

“Armitage. I understand why you’re angry—”

“I thought you could sense my emotions better than that, Miranda.”

“All right, you’re hurt. I know that. I know that _I_ hurt you.”

He reorients himself to look at me, upright. “And _why_ does it hurt, do you think?”

“You’ve been humiliated.”

“Yes. By?”

“Me.”

“And you are?”

“Me?” I say lamely.

“Dammit, Miranda, you know what I want to say.”

“I don’t. I’m not looking at your thoughts.”

“Yes, you’re _you_. Your own creature. The woman I first saw on a holocall, who calls me Armitage instead of Hux, who made me want her again and again.”

“Armitage, let’s not talk about this while we’re treading water.”

“Why not? At least he can’t hear us out here, and it’s a pretty apt metaphor, don’t you think?”

“For what?”

“You’re the poet,” he says, angrily. “Figure it out.”

“For us,” I say. “For the First Order. For everything.”

We drift closer to the shore, so our toes brush the sand at the bottom.

He closes his eyes. “Your friend is a wise woman, and she said I should just ask you.”

“Ask me what.” My voice goes flat, like Kylo Ren’s.

“Don’t you understand? I’m a drowning man,” he says. “Help me to the shallows so my feet can find the bottom.”

“And you said you don’t understand poetry,” I say, smiling softly.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t flirt with me. I am trying — trying to express —” He shakes his head.

“What, Armitage?”

He closes his eyes again. “Do you love me? _Could_ you love me? I know you love him, I know you two have some kind of… of… _thing_ that people like me can’t understand.” His words start tumbling from him now. I watch his pink lips, the water clinging to his ginger eyelashes. “Maybe you can’t love people like me. But… do you? Because despite everything, despite all the...  You can’t know how it feels, even with those Jedi senses of yours.” He loses his toehold on the bottom for a moment and a swell washes over him. He spits out water. “Damnit. Damn. It. I love you.”

I watch him for a moment as the water laps at our necks. Farah was right. Suns, she’s always right.

“Well, say something,” Hux says, pained.

“You know he’s never told me?” I say.

“Told you what?”

“That he loves me. That I’m beautiful. But you have.”

“I assumed people like you didn’t need words… being what you are.”

“No, no. Words, Armitage! To me they’re like part of the Living Force. Their meanings surround and penetrate and flow through everything and —”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“No,” I say.

“So that’s your answer. It’s true — someone like you can’t —”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t say otherwise.”

“Armitage. I — this sounds so stupid, so inadequate — but I don’t know how I feel. Sometimes I look at you and I think _I could love him, I could fall asleep in his arms and be happy,_ but then —”

“Then you remember what I am.”

“And I remember what _I_ am becoming.”

“Could you just… let yourself?”

“No,” I say. “But I _could_ love you. I could. Not the way I love Ben — I’m sorry, but I have to be honest—”

“I wouldn’t want anything else.” He says it to sting, and it does.

“But what would that make me, if I did?”

“What does loving _him_ make you?”

“Someone who remembers what he used to be.”

I look toward the shore, and I see Ben, larger than it seems like he should be at this distance. He’s sitting in the surf, the wind tousling his hair. He’s watching us, but seeing we’re not in danger, he simply _waits._

“You don’t _really_ hate him, do you?” I ask.

Hux shakes his head. “It’s a habit, hating him. I find myself… ever since you arrived, I find myself wanting to understand him.”

“Armitage, let’s get out. I’m getting cold. We can talk just as well on land. Take a walk with me.”

“But —”

“He won’t mind.”

We swim parallel to the beach before getting out. Ben watches us and returns the wave wave I give him with a raised hand.

“You see? He’s fine.”

He’s not, really. He’s making himself believe he’s fine, but he is simmering, waiting, as always.

“He’s very odd like this.”

“Like what?”

“Happy.”

I laugh. “You think he’s happy?”

“He hasn’t destroyed any important equipment lately.”

We walk on the wet sand, our footprints filling with seafoam before being washed away.

“Do you think any of us are happy?”

“No,” he says. “I won’t be happy until there’s order in the galaxy.”

I nod, unwilling to question him in this moment.

“And even if I have that, I’m afraid that even then I won’t be happy.”

“No?”

“Not if you’re not there, somehow. Not even as my lover, but just _there.”_

“Armitage, I _am_ here.”

“For now,” he says.

It is a shock, hearing those two words spoken aloud. The words that haunt me every time I am with Ben — threatening me with impermanence, with the unknown. Does Hux feel the same way about me that I do about Ben?

Impossible.

I want to say something kind as we stop walking and watch the waves.

“You know,” I say. “If it came to it, I’m not sure I could kill you anymore.”

Hux turns to me, speechless for a moment. “Well, _fuck,_ ” he says finally.

I laugh. And then, even though I know I absolutely should _not_ , I kiss him. He hesitates before he puts his arms around me, but then we stand in the surf, pressed together, for some time.

* * *

As we dry off on the beach, I imagine the scene as a prop vid — the Supreme Leader in black swimming trunks sitting on the sand under the umbrella, ridiculously large, an inkbrush in his hand as he draws in actual ink on actual paper; General Hux, sitting cross-legged, draped in a towel patterned with hibiscus flowers, looking furtively around as the Chief Counselor, lying topless on her stomach to tan, hands him a lit joint.

“Nobody _cares_ , Armitage,” I say. “It’s legal here. They wouldn’t care even if it wasn’t.”

“This place is so damnably odd,” Hux complains. “It’s as if the struggle in the core isn’t even happening. People seem to not even care.”

“I _told_ you. Gaia, despite the First Order, is pretty much self-governing. Somehow, they manage to keep existing without the influence of a supreme galactic power.”

“But they benefit — whether they think they do or not,” Hux argues. “We’ve brought the criminal syndicates under control. Outer Rim planets like this were once prey for the Syndicates — people kidnapped as slaves, resources exploited. The First Order has brought them to heel.”

“What?” I bark out, coughing. I tie my bikini top back up and sit up. “Dammit, Armitage, you made me waste that drag. No, no. Gaia’s Planetary Senate created a treaty between the planet’s nations for common and mutual defense against non-state terrorism like the crime syndicates. The First Order has nothing to do with it. The Outer Rim worlds practically all operate like this. It’s just that Gaia has had a stable government and diverse economy since the Old Republic, so it’s able to sustain itself.”

“That’s Populist propaganda!” Hux says. He sucks angrily on the joint.

“Stop, you’re gonna make it all soggy — and no, it’s not propaganda. It’s what I’ve observed living here for the last eight years! Where have _you_ lived for the last eight years? The last _thirty_ years? How many times did you step foot on the surface of a planet in all that time?”

“And I suppose living on a planet makes you an expert.”

“No, being a person educated in galactic politics by a Senator makes me an expert.”

“Oh, yes, your _precious princess._ A traitor.”

“Armitage,” I say.

“No wonder her _pathetic_ Resistance failed, led by a washed-up joke of a —”

“ _Armitage!_ ” I yell. I lean forward and hiss, “Remember who you’re talking about.”

His green eyes seem to darken. “Yes. Oh, yes. I mustn’t cause upset.” He leans forward and whispers. “You and Ren had better face up to the truth about her. The First Order can’t be led by people with no faith in it.”

“A galactic government can’t be led by people with no faith in _people_ ,” I whisper back, apparently louder than I thought because Ben groans from under the umbrella.

“Am I going to have to throw both of you in the ocean?” he says. “No work talk. It’s the _weekend_ , remember?”

“Ughhhhh!” I kick at the sand in exasperation and flop back down onto my back. “You’re infuriating,” I say to Hux.

“As are you, Counselor.”

“We’re such a cliché.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” I hold out the joint — which Hux and I had been passing between us through our whole argument — in Ben’s general direction. “Ben, you boring straight-edge, come over here and smoke the end of this thing.”

“No.”

“Fine.” I lie back down on the sand. “You know, I was thinking, we’re going to have to make a vid that Peavey can show High Command to prove that Hux isn’t dead and that we’re all united blah blah blah.”

“I _said_ no work talk,” Ben growls.

“We can record it tonight and get it to the prop office for editing,” Hux says.

Ben growls again.

“Nooooooo,” I say. “We’re both too stoned to do that, Armitage.”

He sputters. “Can you imagine?” He stands, pulls the hibiscus towel around him like a cloak, and straightens up into his General posture. “Hello, this is General Armitage Hux. I just want you all to know that I am alive and well and feeling _really really_ good right now. Just fantastic. Brilliant.”

He lets his legs buckle and falls back to the sand like a marionette with cut strings. I let out a barrage of uncontrollable giggling and roll into him. We lie there, facing each other, for a moment and then quickly sit up. Then I start laughing again. Then he does.

And then Ben gets up, hauls each of us under his ridiculously strong arms, and throws us in the ocean.

As soon as I can stand again, I try to tackle him, and accidentally take down Hux, who was sitting, stunned, in the surf.

“Sorry, Armitage!” I call out as I jump onto Ben’s back. But his shoulders are too broad for me to get my arms around them properly, and he’s slippery, and I’m stoned, and so — I fall again.

This time I stay down,  clinging onto Ben’s calves.

“Why are you like a… a… fucking… like… WHY ARE YOU SO BIG?” I try to yell, but it comes out mumbly.

“Mira, hey,” he says quietly. “There are people looking at us.”

“Where?” I spin around.

About fifty yards away there are three women, dressed in long skirts and vests tied with scarves, and two two men in loose robes. They’re watching us, curiously, and approaching.

“Oh, them. They’re just beach bums who come around every so often. They camp out on the beach and make bonfires and chant.”

“They look like members of the Church of the Force.”

“They’re just wandering hippies. I’ve seen them before.”

“So have I,” he says. “Not these people in particular, but others who… others who were dressed like them, acted like them. And… do you feel that?”

Hux staggers over to us, dripping wet. “Well, it seems your antics have attracted attention, Ren,” he whispers.

“Sshhh,” Ben hisses. “No names.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say. “I’m going to prove to you they’re just looking to bum weed off us.”

I walk over to them, ignoring Ben’s whispered “Wait!”

“Hello!” I call out, waving. “How are you?”

One of the women, older than the others, separates from the group to come meet me. She is small and brown, with wiry gray hair that hangs loose nearly to her waist.

“Good day, miss,” she says. “We are wandering visionaries. Our group wishes to ask you if you have any food to spare.”

So far, so normal for the types of vagabonds we get here.

“Oh,” I say, but I feel something, a humming, a recognition. “Yes, of course. I’m sure I can find something for you. I live a half-klick from here. You can follow me and my friends up when we leave and bring it back here, if that’s all right.”

The old woman presses her palms together and then touches her forehead to her fingertips. As she bows, I see it — swinging on a leather cord around her neck. A kyber crystal.  

“Thank you, miss. May It be with you.”

My stomach goes cold. “May what?”

“That which I cannot say, miss. May It be with you.”

I force a smile and nod. And then I walk, with weak legs, back over to Ben and Hux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People act differently on vacation, but there’s always that moment when you have to come back to real life.
> 
> The beach at the real Bonny Doon is a nude beach, but I decided that would be just TOO MUCH.
> 
> Listening to “Ever Fallen in Love” makes me want to write a 90s romcom about these three. Maybe later. Or, wait… am I already doing that?


	27. In the Eyes of the Ghost Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira has a vision that pulls her out of the idyllic respite of the trio’s time on Gaia. The old woman from the Church of the Force has something for Mira — but she doesn’t really want it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than usual — enjoy! (I hope!)
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “Untitled” by the Cure.

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

“Ben,” I whisper as I slide back by his side. “Ben Ben Ben Ben.”

“Let me guess,” he says. “I was right.”

“You were right.”

He pushes his wet hair out of his face with both hands, and for a moment I am in awe as the sunlight reflects off the water on his skin and the muscles in his arms flex.

“Hey,” he says.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m trying really hard not to be stoned right now.”

“Act like we’re talking about something else.”

“What is going on?” Hux says.

We turn our backs on the little group, but my senses prickle with their presence.

“That group,” Ben says. “They’re members of the Church of the Force.”

Hux tries to blink himself into focusing on what Ben has said. “ _More_ of you? You _really_ didn’t do a through job of killing all the Jedi.”

“No, not like us,” I say. “They worship the Force, but they’re not Force-sensitive. If they were, they would know what Ben and I are.”

“What threat do they pose?” Hux says, the General reasserting himself, or at least trying to.

“They know who I am,” Ben says. “I don’t mean they’re looking at me and know who I am, but they know about Kylo Ren.”

It’s strange to hear him speak of his other self in third person. The mask is someone else, the man who wore it someone else. I reach out and take Ben’s hand, and it comes to me in a flash. The blaster fire, the people, huddled together. The fear as Kylo Ren emerges from his ship, cowled and masked.  Lor San Tekka falling under his lightsaber blade. And Kylo Ren’s voice, distorted by his mask.

“ _Kill them all_.”

I let go of his hand with a start and draw away from him. Tears spring into my eyes. They well and spill, and I don’t wipe them away.

“ _What did you do?_ ” I whisper.

“ _Not now._ ”

“No. Now. After what you did, after the Temple, still — still you would slaughter innocent people.”

“They weren’t innocent. They were harboring a traitor. They were armed.”

“Not when you killed them, they weren’t.”

“ _I_ didn’t kill them.”

“Miranda, I really don’t think —” Hux cuts in.

“FN-2187!” I cry.

“What.” Hux has his hand on my arm, as if to steady me, or hold me back.

“ _That_ is what turned him,” I say. “He was unsure already, doubt had started growing in him, but it was _that_ order. _Kill them all._ He couldn’t do it.”

Ben is silent.

“You don’t deny it. _This_ is what your methods bring, both of you. Starkiller Base wouldn’t have been destroyed if you didn’t give that order.” I’m whispering frantically; salty strands of my hair are being whipped into my mouth by the wind. “Not that Starkiller Base should have _ever existed._ You killed _billions_ of people.”

I keep in a sob. “Look at me. Playing at the beach with Ky —” I stop myself from saying the name. “With _mass murderers_. Thinking I could love you, either of you.” I turn to Ben and look into his eyes, amber brown in the sunlight. “Thinking that I _did_ love you. That you could redeem yourself. But you stand there _justifying_ yourself instead.” I want to push him, to hit him, to hurt him, but he’s so much bigger, so much _stronger_ than I am. And so I spit at him, “No wonder she doesn’t want you.”

I expect his anger, like the blast of emotion that hit me in the chest, the flare of heat that emanates from his eyes and hands. But instead I feel cold darkness. Self-loathing. Despair. He keeps his eyes fixed on mine, and they are pleading, full of sorrow.

“Is that how you looked at her, too, Kylo Ren?” I whisper.

I turn away, wipe away my tears, and then run over to the Church members. _Breathe_ , I think as I run. _There is a light and it… There is a light and…_

I can’t finish the thought. The crystal in the woman’s necklace is whirring, demanding my attention. I don’t know what it’s trying to tell me, though. My feelings are ebbing and flowing too quickly to understand what they are.

“Are you all right, miss?” the old woman asks.

“Yes, yes,” I say. “Lovers’ spat, you know how it is. But all’s well now. I’m heading up if you and one of your friends want to come with me.”

She beckons a woman over. A bit older than me, perhaps, though it’s hard to tell — she has the worn, weathered look of a person who lives on the move. Ben’s girl, something tells me, would have looked like this had she not been plucked from the sand, from the heat and toil where she was. I try to push it away. I’ve gotten some of Ben’s thoughts, some of his feelings, and they’re becoming muddled with mine.

“Your friends are staying here?” the old woman asks.

I turn and look at them. Ben is standing in the surf, head bowed, looking like a fucking beautiful damn statue. Hux has his eyes raised to me in utter helplessness. I look away.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable if it were just me,” I say.

“I appreciate it, miss,” she says. “But It is with me. I have nothing to fear.”

The crystal hums at me.

“My name is Isobel,” I say.

We start walking to the path that leaves over the hill.

“I am Ethra,” the old woman says. She nods to the other woman. “And she is Lora.”

 _Lora_. The crystal continues to hum.

“You say you’re visionaries?” I say, holding my hand out to help the old woman over a high step in the path. “What do you envision?”

“Balance,” says Ethra.

 _That old thing_ , I think. “Oh,” I say.

“It’s difficult for an outsider to understand,” Lora says. “But if you study Its ways, you will.”

“Oh,” I say again.

We walk the rest of the way without speaking. The old woman is remarkably spry and strong. Her breath doesn’t even catch as we reach the top of the hill.

I point to my bungalow, nestled on the next swell of the hill. “There’s my place, just over there. Not so far away.”

Walking into my house without  Ben and Hux, just as I used to, I think — _I could stay_. I could send them back to the _Finalizer_ , turn our command center back into my dance studio, and put all of this behind me. I could come home alone again, sleep alone again. Or maybe I could travel with the Church of the Force. Show them my power and be venerated like a goddess.

That I am even thinking this tells me that I have gone too far to return to what I was. I feel the contempt welling in me, right from my stomach. These grubby people, wearing kyber crystals like they’re jewelry, chanting around fires — what do they know about the Force? How dare they speak to me about it when I —

“Mrrrrup?” Millicent emerges from Hux’s room (and I wince when I think of it already as Hux’s room) and trots over to me to be pet and inspect the visitors.

“Hello, Millie,” I say, scratching behind her ears.

The two women look at her warily, as if they’ve never seen a cat before.

“It’s fine,” I say. “She’s tame.”

I lead them into the kitchen and Millicent sniffs around as I put a loaf of bread, some cheese, and fruit in a bag. I find some pouches of beans and rice and put those in too.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more,” I say. “I only just got back from being away.”

“We’re grateful,” Lora says.

I know who she is. She’s a survivor, like me. Someone whose loved ones Kylo Ren killed. Lor San Tekka was Luke’s friend who sometimes regaled us at the temple with tales of his adventures. And Lora, his daughter, was with him once, when Ben and I were about twelve. She doesn’t remember me. She’s not likely to associate Ben with the skinny kid at the Temple, either. Unless the Force sees fit to tell her.

 _Don’t you dare_ , I think, not sure why it matters.

The old woman wanders away from the kitchen to the great room, her eyes roving over my belongings. As she nears my bedroom door the humming of the crystal becomes almost unbearable. It’s calling out to the crystals in my and Ben’s lightsabers, but I don’t know why.

She pauses and looks at the photo of my mother and me. “Your mother, I assume. Beautiful! And look at all that sand!”

“Tatooine,” I say.

“We come from a planet much like it, a desert.”

“What planet is that?”

“Jakku.”

 _Jakku_ , where a great battle was fought in the waning days of the Empire.

“What brought you to Gaia?” I ask. “It’s a long way to travel.”

“We fled. Gaia is peaceful, prosperous. We thought we could live and worship here without persecution.”

I can hardly hear her over the crystal. “I used to sell jewelry,” I say. “Your necklace caught my eye. May I?”

She nods and holds it out to me. I don’t hear her explanation of what it is over the onslaught of sound. It’s a raw, colorless crystal, the size of the top two joints of my index finger. When I touch it, my vision goes white and the humming stops — all sound stops. Except for my breath.

— _What is this?_ I ask the emptiness.

— _You’re lost_ , it answers.

— _No shit,_ I answer.

— _This one isn’t for you._

_—I never said it was._

_—It’s meant for someone else._

I am _out_ of patience with the mystical Force voice.

— _I don’t_ want _the damn crystal. I have one already._

_—You are the one who will deliver it._

And then I understand.

— _To_ her. _For her lightsaber._

_—Yes._

_—No. I have nothing to do with her._

_—Take it._

I come out of the vision with a gasp and find Ethra and Lora gathered close, peering expectantly at me.

“Did it speak to you?” Ethra says, her voice shaking. “All these years and it never so much as whistled at me.”

“It wants me to take it,” I say.

Lora moves even closer to me. I’m taller than her, and she lifts her chin to examine my face. “Who are you? Do I know you?”

“No,” I say emphatically. A push in the Force. “You don’t know me.”

I turn to Ethra. “You will leave the crystal with me and then return to your friends. You’ll both think think it’s perfectly natural that you gave me the crystal. It’s the Force’s will, so you did it. I’ll keep it safe.”

Ethra removes the necklace over her head and then hands it to me. “You’ll keep it safe,” she says.

The crystal’s relentless plea stops as soon as it is in my palm.

“You’re going to tell your friends that it’s time to move on when you see them,” I tell the two women. “And then you’ll leave this town.”

“It’s time to move on,” Lora says.

“We’ll leave this town,” Ethra says.

“All right, bye!”

The two women leave with the food and a jug of clean water, and I am alone. With the crystal.

“Well, you,” I say, rolling it in my palm. “You’re going where I can forget about you for a little while.”

I put it in my jewelry box, next to a necklace of polished stones, pale green and amber, that my mother gave to me when I was elevated from Padawan to full Jedi.

“I don’t know if Jedi care about pretty things,” she said. “But these match your lightsaber.”

“I’ll always care about pretty things,” I told her. “Being a Jedi doesn’t change who I _am._ I’ll always be your Mira.”

I look now in the mirror of my vanity. My hair is tangled into snake-like black ropes from the wind and salt water. My eyes are rimmed red. They look at me, and they are mine. I am still who I am. I sway. I fall.

* * *

I wake up in my bed. The first thing I see is Ben’s broad back. He sits at the foot of the bed, waiting.

I murmur, and he turns to me on profile, not looking up. It’s dark outside now, and he’s silhouetted by the soft light of one of my glass lamps.

“Have I been asleep long?”

“You weren’t asleep,” Ben says. “You were unconscious. It’s been… four hours now.”

“Oh. And you —” There’s a small warm mass next to me. I put my hand down on it, and find soft fur. It’s Millicent, curled up against my hip. “Where’s Hux?”

“I saw that you were coming around and sent him to find Farah. I figured you’d want someone you don’t hate around when you woke up. Hux wanted to put you on the freighter, to take you back to the _Finalizer_ ,” he says.

I’m confused. I sit up, and Millie mews her disapproval. Somebody has taken my bathing suit off me and put me in pajamas.

“He wanted to _kidnap_ me?”

“No, Mira, he wanted to help you. You wouldn’t wake up and he was frantic. I almost let him.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I…”

He stands and retrieves a glass of water from my vanity and gives it to me. He sits on the floor beside the bed, arms resting on the mattress, watching at me.

“Because we’re two fucking monsters who hate each other, but we still care about _you_.”

Everything rushes back to me, the vision I had on the beach, the words I said to him that I can’t take back. The rushing of seawater against my ears. The gasp as I came up for air, laughing, before.

“No,” I say.

“No what?”

“I’m not going back,” I say. “I can’t.”

“Mira, please —”

“ _No._ You don’t care about me. Neither does Hux. You _think_ you do. Hux says he loves me, did you know that? He doesn’t know the words mean, really. But he said them — words you’ve never said.”

“I have.”

I shake my head. “Never.”

“Maybe I think I did because I’ve felt them, so many times.”

“ _Fuck your feelings._ ”

He stands and takes a step back from me, but I’m irrationally enraged at how tall he is, how strong — how he could kill me any time he wanted.

“Did your feelings tell you to have all those people killed? Did your feelings tell you to just _let_ Hux destroy the entire Hosnian system? Did your feelings tell you to kill all of my friends? To kill Han? Luke? You’ll kill everyone I have left. And then you kill more people and more and more.”

The words spill out of me and when I can’t think of any more, I scream and throw my glass at him.

It hits him squarely in the chest, just over his heart, but then it thuds into the rug without breaking. So I grab at anything near me and throw it — useless things, a book, a lamp, a candle, pillows. Nothing that can hurt him. I shriek in impotent rage and Millicent streaks out of the room.

With nothing left to throw, I throw _myself_ at him, pounding his chest with my fists, pushing him with all my might. I slap his face so hard that my palm feels like I’ve touched a flame. He stands and absorbs it all, a purple welt in the shape of my hand rising on his cheek.

The sight awakens me to the limitations of my power, and I see clearly. He would let me beat him until my own body was more battered than his, unleash my fury on him until I was spent, and I still wouldn’t have hurt him enough. And I’m so tired.

I sag back onto my bed.

“I wish I were dead,” I say, not meaning to.

He doesn’t move, but his eyes fill with pain.

“I wish I’d died at the Temple, defending my friends. That the Knights of Ren has found me and killed me. That one of the cuts on my wrists had gone too deep.”

He kneels down in front one me. “Mira, no.”

“I do,” I insist. “Then I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have to be making this decision. I was so stupid to think I could go with you and not lose myself.”

“You haven’t lost yourself. You’re still Mira.”

“Maybe that’s worse,” I say. “It means that this is who I am, someone who can be part of this evil.”

“You’re someone who always made me want to be better.” He gazes up at me. “Please stay.”

“Can’t you see what that does to me?” I ask. “Remember what I told you? I’m not your containment field. I can’t take that responsibility. Now that everything’s open about the plot, the drug, you don’t need me anymore.”

“Stay, for my sake _._ ”

“Ben, how long can this go on? You, me, Hux — the whole wretched First Order. And I’m selfish. If I stay and you can redeem yourself if I do, it’s not going to be _for_ me.”

“Why do you keep bringing everything back to — to —”

“To _her._ You know why as well as I do, Ben.”

“She’s gone. She’s not coming back for me.”

“But if she does? What’s going to happen to me then?”

“It won’t happen.”

I put my hands on his shoulders and make him look at me.

“But you never say you’d give her up for me. You _can’t._ I’d know you were lying.”

I don’t realize the tears are already falling from my eyes until I see them drop onto Ben’s hair.

“But I _want_ you,” he says.

“You _want_ me,” I say. “But you _need_ her.”

He puts his face in my lap and sobs, his large frame shaking silently.

It’s no use. I lean over him, resting my cheek on the waves of his dark hair. He smells like the ocean.

“Stay here,” I say. “Stay here with me. You don’t have to go back. Forget the First Order. Forget the Resistance. They don’t matter here.”

I know it’s impossible even as I’m saying it. He buries his face deeper in the folds of my dressing gown, his arms wrapped around my knees. Finally, he looks up.

“I made something for you,” he says.

“Really? What?”

He stands up and goes to my dresser, where there’s a piece of paper rolled up like a scroll and tied with string. Yellow wildflowers are tucked into the string. He takes it and hands it to me.

I untie the string, and the paper unrolls to reveal… me. A painting in ink of my profile, looking out at the ocean. He’s captured the way my hair tangled from the saltwater, grains of sand clinging to my shoulder, the slight overbite that I’ve always hated but in the portrait makes me look pensive and sensitive. Below it, he’s written my name — just “Mira” — in Aurebesh, in his familiar, graceful calligraphy that sends a shiver of nostalgia through me. I look up at him. He is nervous with anticipation of what I’ll say, what I’ll feel.

“It’s beautiful, Ben,” I say. “Thank you.”

He half smiles and shrugs. “I thought as long as you were saying I’m an artist I ought to you know… art. And _you’re_ beautiful,” he says. “It made drawing you easy.”

He sits down again with me. He puts a hand to my cheek, pulls me to him. My head tips back to receive his kiss before I can even think about what I’m doing. The pressure of his lips on mine, his hand now on the back of neck, reminds me of how powerful he is and how helpless I am against him — and, strangely, how powerful I am, and how helpless he is against me. Whatever bond the Force has place between us is too powerful for us to resist. He is part of me. _He is me_. I struggle to remember it, my hate for Kylo Ren, when Ben Solo is here, next to me, the warmth of his body and the assurance of our history enfolding me in the comfort of being with someone who knows me better than anyone else in the galaxy. I put my arms around him, but soon find myself tired. He lays me down and settles the blankets around me, then lies down with me, his arms around my waist, his head on my breasts.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nearing 1000 hits! I've had so much fun working on this, and have plenty more to come.
> 
> Next chapter: Mira doesn’t feel so good.


	28. Fate, Up Against Your Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira doesn’t feel so good. But sometimes in times of weakness, we discover our greatest strengths. Farah is suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song “The Killing Moon” by Echo and the Bunnymen

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

We are lying on my bed, nested together, when Hux returns with Farah. I am awake, staring into the dark, but Ben is asleep. I ease myself up and to the edge of the bed when I hear them.

Hux’s eyes go wide when he sees me and he rushes to me. Oblivious to Ben next to me, he sits on the bed and wraps his arms around me. It’s an inartful hug that pins my arms to my side. His chin digs into my shoulder.

“Thank the stars,” he says. “I was worried that — you weren’t going to wake up. And after everything you said—”

“Oh, never mind,” I say. “Too much weed, too much sun, not enough water. Remember what I said about staying hydrated?”

“I thought that they — those two women — had done something to you.” He releases me from the hug. “And I was ready to run them down on the beach and —”

“Armitage,” I whisper, too quietly for Farah to hear, “remember who we are.”

He nods and puts his hands on mine. “I’m just relieved you’re all right.”

Farah comes in carrying a glass full of pink rehydrating drink and a plate of protein biscuits. I make a face.

“You shouldn’t have gotten yourself into this state if you didn’t want all this,” she says. “You know the drill. It’s lucky Wil caught me at the end of my shift.”

Ben wakes, orienting himself for a few seconds, and then sits up. He’s still shirtless, and Farah’s face freezes, her lips slightly parted.

“Oh my,” she says.

“Right?” I reply, grinning.

“All right, out,” she says to Hux and Ben. “She needs to rest and you two are a _distraction._ ”

She closes the door after they leave.

“He is… that’s a lot of man, Iz.”

I laugh.

“The scar, though… there must be a story there.”

“ _War is hell_ ,” I recite.

Farah sits on my bed. “All that stupid conflict, doing that to beautiful men.” She shakes her head. “But, anyway. Iz. This isn’t like you. You’re a pro. A joint on the beach isn’t going to do this to you. What _really_ happened?”

I shake my head, notice it hurts, and slide back under my sheets, propping myself up on pillows.

“It’s too much to explain,” I say.

Farah’s aquamarine eyes slowly widen. “Oh, no,” she says. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m afraid I’ll lose them in my skull. “ _Twin Suns_ , no! Why is everyone obsessed with my fertility?”

“Yikes, sorry.” She holds her hands up. “What do you mean, _everyone?_ ”

“Oh, there was a rumor going around on the — at the resort on Chandrila.”

“Why would people be gossiping about you at a resort?”

“I don’t know. People get bored, I guess.”

I pick up the pink drink and gulp down half of it. It’s sour, sweet, and salty all at once.

“No, it was just those wanderers that come around here sometimes. I talked to them, and they’re from Jakku. We talked about the desert. It reminded me of Tatooine and my mother. I guess I got overwhelmed.”

“Oh, honey.” She hugs me. “You act so self-contained all of the time, but you know you can call me if you need me, right?”

“Of course.”

And I burst into tears. She reaches out and hugs me again, making comforting noises. I don’t say anything at all. There’s nothing I can say. I have to make this decision all by myself. I’m alone.

“Iz,” Farah says, pulling away and putting her hand on my forehead. “I think you have a fever.”

“No, no. It’s just dehydration. I don’t get sick.”

“Do you have a med kit?”

“Why would I? I told you, I don’t get sick.”

Farah stands up. “I’m going to go get mine. Which one of those boys do you want me to send in here to take care of you while I’m gone? It can’t be both, they’ll just start making it about them.”

“No, it’s OK. They’ll figure it out. Just let them know you’re coming back.”

Ben comes in, but I see Hux hovering just outside the door. He sits on the bed, and touches my forehead.

“You haven’t been meditating,” he says.

“No. I haven’t had time.” Luke’s voice is in my mind again: _Whole minds, whole bodies._

“We need to find the infection that’s causing your fever. We can clear it if we work together.”

“Maybe I just need a break. Maybe we all do.”

“Mira,” he says, “there’s so much to do.”

“I’m tired,” I say. “Just let me rest, please.”

He nods, rises, and turns out the light, but then he sits down on the bed beside me.

“Lie down,” he says. “Sleep.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” I murmur, and then with his hand on my cheek, I drop off. I dream of Tatooine.

* * *

When I wake, Farah is touching the thermometer to my brow and frowning at the results.

“Hey, dummy,” she says. “You’re sick. Like, super sick.”

“No shit. One of our filthy friends probably gave me a virus at the party.”

“No doubt.” She purses her lips.

“What is that look?”

“What you said was true — you _never_ get sick. Not in the whole time I’ve known you. And now, you’re home two days and laid out by a virus? What have you been doing the past three months?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Literally. Just… being on vacation.”

“You quit your job, and yet you could afford three months on _Chandrila?_ The hyperspace travel costs alone….”

“I got an inheritance. From a long-lost aunt.”

“A long-lost aunt.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.” She pours me more of the horrible pink drink and hands me two plain white pills. “Take these — they’re just an analgesic, for the fever. You need to come clean.”

I rub my temples and then take the drink and pills. “It’s nothing to worry about, all right? I did come into something of a windfall from, not exactly an aunt, but something close. Someone I knew when I lived on Tatooine.”

“But it wasn’t an inheritance. No one died?”

“No.” _Yes,_ I think. _So many people died, you don’t even know._

“The only reason I’m not pushing you hard on this is because you’re sick,” Farah says. “And I think you’re sick because you’ve been doing something that has worn you out. You came back looking so _different_. Not just that you’ve been working out or whatever — it’s more like some of the light has gone out of you.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “What? What do you mean?”

“You seem subdued, is all. You don’t smile like you used to. Maybe it’s just the hyperspace travel, I don’t know.”

“That’s probably it,” I say weakly. “And work. I haven’t really been on vacation. I've been… working. A lot. And it’s really stressful.”

She stares at me for a second. “It’s not for a Syndicate, is it?”

“What? No!” I say. “Not a Syndicate. Something else.”

She stands. “Well, get some rest. If you need anything, call me. I have first shift tomorrow.”

“Farah,” I say as she turns to the door.

“What?”

“I want to tell you, I really do. I just can’t.”

She sighs. “Just don’t do anything extra stupid, all right?”

“It’s probably too late for that.”

“Well, then _stop_.”

She leaves, and for a few minutes I am alone. I punch at my pillow, which tires me more than it should. I call out to my music system to put on one of my mixes. I lean back. I close my eyes. But my head is throbbing and my thoughts are restless and I’m too hot to rest.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, tentatively, and decide I’m not going to collapse again if I stand. I go the bathroom and start a cool bath. My tub here is a puny thing compared to the one of the _Finalizer_. _Everything_ is puny compared to the _Finalizer_. What kind of person conceives of such a spacecraft, anyway?

Armitage Hux, that’s what kind of person. I slide down into the water. _Poor Hux._ My refrain about him, no matter what horrors he’s committed. What must his father have been, I wonder.

There’s a light knock and then Ben peeks around the door.

“You still have the fever,” he says. “You’re flushed.”

He sits at the edge of the tub and idly runs his hand through my wet hair.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Just a virus,” I say. “It should clear up in a few days.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. You should be immune to simple viruses. Something weakened you.”

I pause before I speak, searching the air for the hum of the kyber crystal in my jewelry box. It’s gone silent, hiding itself from him. Hiding itself from Kylo Ren.

“Overwork, I imagine.”

He nods, but he doesn’t believe me. “Those women from the Church of the Force,” he says. “You mind tricked them.”

“A little bit.”

He smirks. “That explains why they were packing up to go. They were chanting while they did it, like you said. _I am one with It, and It is with me_.”

“The younger one might not find it so amusing that she’s sharing an atmosphere with you,” I say. “You have something in common.”

“And what’s that?”

“Kylo Ren killed your fathers.”

I sink down into the water as his hand in my hair freezes. “Didn’t you recognize her?”

“No.”

“Oh well, she didn’t recognize you either.”

“Mira, we can’t stay here.”

“Why not? You had a solution the last time members of the Church of the Force got in your way.”

He doesn’t answer, just presses his lips together and swallows. I hold my gaze on him. _Hurt me, if you want to_ , he said to me once.

“Anyway, we can’t go back to the _Finalizer_ yet,“ I say. “We still don’t have the conspirators. We’re getting closer, though. Do you have the report on LX-6497’s tech interactions?”

“Yes, but I haven’t looked at it yet.”

“I’m sorry. This silly illness is such a distraction.”

My teeth are chattering.

“Mira?” He puts his fingers on my cheek. “You’re still burning hot. Let me help you out of here.”

He puts a towel around me and carries me back to my bed. I try to put on my pajamas, but my hands are shaking. Ben takes them from me and dresses me, gently. Then he holds my hands in his, searching for the source of the infection.

“I’m fine,” I say, “I was feeling better, I just —”

“Sshhh. Help me.”

I close my eyes and move through the systems of my body, searching for a virus attaching itself to my cells or a bacteria invading them. Force healing works much better on broken bones and slashed flesh than on infections, but with the two of us, we should be able to at least strengthen my immune system’s defenses.

But there is no virus. No outside invader. What we find is a strange inflammation of the midichlorians in my cells; meager though they are, they are straining at the cell walls, as if to burst them. We open our eyes at the same moment. There is fear in his.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says.

I do. It’s the kyber crystal, the one that is supposed to belong to _her_. It knows I’ve put it away, put it aside, with no intention of fulfilling the assignment the Force gave me. And it is protesting. It is flooding my receptors for the Force, threatening to overwhelm them, destroy them — and destroy my Force sensitivity, possibly kill me.

But I don’t want to tell Ben. I don’t want to find her. I took it from the old woman so the girl would never get it. With her own crystal, her own lightsaber, she would be that much closer to coming to take Ben from me. I always knew she will someday, but I don’t want to _help_ her. I push my will against that of the crystal’s, subduing it with as much Dark Side energy as I can summon. My blood rushes in my ears, the throbbing of my pulse like a hammer.

 _I could destroy you,_ I think.

I realize now what became of Ben’s lightsaber from the Temple. The crystal is in his cross-shaped lightsaber, cracked and corrupted.

_No, better — I could corrupt you, make you burn red, make you my own — and then what will you do?_

“Mira, what are you doing?” Ben feels what I’m calling forth in myself. “Don’t do this.”

I keep pushing against it. I find that pit of hate — for Kylo Ren, who has driven me to this point, whom I must save, whom I must become like, in order to keep Ben Solo. The crystal must choose to release me or become corrupted. For a long time, I set my will against its desires and my whole body feels as if it’s aflame. I take the pain, the fire, and push harder at it, envisioning it turn from hazy white to red, a bloom starting in its heart and spreading outward until it is an instrument of my hate.

It releases me.

My triumph at my victory is brief, however. Once again, my vision begins to darken and I feel myself slipping.

Ben yells for Hux, but it sounds as if it’s coming from very far away. Hux’s face, when I see it, is contorted with worry, and his lips form the shape of my name, but I don’t hear his voice.

It’s the last thing I see before the blackness takes me again.

* * *

I wake nestled in warmth, as if cocooned. My fever is gone, but there’s a dull ache in my head and in my limbs, and an exhaustion that leaves me unable to sit up. I open my eyes and see Ben’s sleeping face on the pillow beside me. He is holding me with one hand tucked under my hip, the other on my shoulder. Slowly, though, I become aware of why I feel cocooned — there’s someone else, spooned against my back, breathing into my hair, his hand on my waist.

Hux. And next to him, Millicent.

I almost laugh. An apt metaphor, as Hux said yesterday.  I am between the two most powerful men in the galaxy, but I am also, strangely, the conduit through which they can communicate. The hate between Kylo Ren and General Armitage Hux is a given in the First Order. Their rule has been a series of contradictory stratagems and morale-sapping power struggles. They almost lost half a dozen worlds before I arrived. Nobody would have ever imagined them as I have seen them the past few days, with resentments still simmering inside them, yes, but also a growing sense of understanding. Twice now, they’ve spent a night sleeping on either side of me. They’re becoming accustomed to sharing space, sharing power. And it’s because of me.

For a moment, I’m resentful. A woman as a means, a vessel, a civilizing influence — it’s all too archaic to stomach. The oldest story on Gaia has in it Enkidu the wild man, who was tamed by the priestess of Ishtar with a week of fucking. I think of the my Tatooine fertility goddess and my bordello-like bedrooms, of the men I’ve paraded through my bed. On Gaia, I learned what I needed to become what I am, and so what? _I make things happen_. That is where my power lies.

I turn to my back, slowly. I am so tired that my body moves as if under protest. I place one hand on Hux’s, the other on Ben’s. I close my eyes. If I am their connection, so be it. I will make the galaxy whole.

Hux wakes before Ben, his movement rousing me. He gives me an ecstatic smile when he sees I am awake and well.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” he says. “You asked for me, you know. You were delirious, but you asked for me.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Truly, Armitage.”

He sneaks me a kiss before rising. _How bold he’s gotten._

“Should I make you something to eat?”

The image of my kitchen from the last time he tried to make food flashes in my mind.

“No, that’s all right. Just tea.”

“Right. How…?”

“Do _not_ touch the stove. Use the auto-brewer.”

“Ah, yes.”

He goes off to the kitchen. Millicent stands, stretches, and follows him. Next to me, Ben’s eyes flutter open. He stretches, almost just like Millie. Like a very large, muscular cat.

“You’re feeling better,” he says.

“Yes, but still very tired.”

There’s a clatter from the kitchen.

“Did that fool stay in here all night?” Ben asks. “I couldn’t get rid of him without hurting him.”

“It’s all right,” I say. “Thank you for not hurting him. He was worried.”

“So was I.”

“But look, I’m well on my way to recovery.”

He puts his arms around my waist and draws me to him, burying his face in my shoulder.

“You’re not as far as you think,” he says. I feel him searching, studying me. “What you did last night — it could have killed you.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Where’s the crystal?”

I go silent. He knows, then.

“Come on, Mira. You can’t think you could hide a kyber crystal from me. It did its best, but I felt your interaction with it.”

“It’s in my jewelry box. The old woman gave it to me.”

He starts to get up and I rise to take his arm, tugging him back down onto the bed.

“No,” I say. “Just leave it there. Stay here with me, please.”

“It was making you ill.”

“It won’t be bothering me anymore, I made sure of it.”

“You threatened it,” he says. “With corruption.”

“Yes.”

He takes me by the shoulder. “Mira, if you go down that path there’s no return.”

“What do you care? It’s the same path you took.”

“And look at me. Look where it brought me.”

I do. I see his face — scarred, beautiful; his eyes — haunted, hungry; his mouth — the red lips, too sensual for the intensity of most of his expressions. And behind it — every vision I’ve had of what he’s done, whom he’s killed, how his soul has been eaten away piece by piece; his satisfaction in his own power; but also his conflict, his unnamed longings; I can begin to name them if I probe — for connection, for acceptance, for meaning.

“You’re wrong,” I say. “You can turn back — or make a new path.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re not on this one with me, not yet. And you wouldn’t want to be. Please believe me.”

His eyes are very earnest, his lips moist. I feel the struggle. This isn’t something he would have told me just a few months ago. He may have welcomed my descent into the Dark. But now he sees that my fight against it is essential to who I am. And there’s something else.

“You brought me back because you didn’t want to go farther,” I say, understanding. “If the past has its pull on you, you can’t descend lower.”

He nods, and has me in his arms once more. We lie down again and I curl against him, my forehead against his shoulder, arms around him, legs intertwined with his. He notices my tears falling on his chest before I do.

“What is it?” he asks, as if he can’t feel the despair coursing through me.

“She’s going to take you from me,” I say, hating myself for saying it, for needing him so much.

“Mira, when will you believe me when I say she doesn’t want me?”

“It’s not true, even if you think it is.”

“She’s not going to come back, not unless…” There’s a catch in his throat as he trails off.

“Unless what?”

“Unless I ask her to. Unless I show her I’ll turn.”

“And will you?” My tears are falling past my lips now, their taste like seawater.

He shakes his head. “I won’t turn,” he says.  

But I can feel his uncertainty. And he can sense my conflict. I want Ben Solo to be redeemed; I want the glimmers of my childhood friend to overtake the stolid presence of Kylo Ren. But if that happens, he won’t be mine anymore.

“Remember what you said to me, about fulfilling my potential?” I ask. “Don’t you see the same for yourself?”

“My potential? I’m the Supreme Leader. What more is there for me?”

“Oh, Ben. There’s so much.”

“I don’t want any of it. I want what I have. I want you.”

He strokes my hair, pushing off my face where my tears have plastered it to my skin. He presses his lips to my forehead, to each of my cheeks, to my lips.

There’s another crash from the kitchen. Ben sighs.

“Should I go save Hux from himself?” he asks.

“He’ll keep,” I say, and muster all my strength to pull him back to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was loath to use midichlorians, but oh well.
> 
> Is this the beginning of a slow slip into the Dark Side? Time will tell.
> 
> Next Chapter: A new suspect, and something completely unexpected.


	29. I Am Human and I Need to Be Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Ben are, strangely, getting along. As she recovers from her illness, Mira has a heart-to-heart with Hux and reminisces with Ben. An origin story is explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “How Soon Is Now?” by The Smiths.
> 
> Another song for this chapter: “Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect” by The Decemberists

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Late Summer, 36 ABY** _

I need Ben to steady me if I get out of bed. My body is limp and doll-like, and it’s so frustrating that I want to scream — if only screaming didn’t take so much energy.

So I sit propped up on pillows in my bed, with Millie curled up next to me. I type out my messages to the contacts at the pharmaceutical developers, demanding, in my official capacity as Chief Counselor of the First Order, any information about drugs like the one Hux described, whether in development, on the market, or discontinued. They are to reply to me within three standard days, and I will follow up by holocall should the information they provide warrant it, I tell them.

Then I set down my datapad and I reach out as best as I can — it actually hurts, like a low fire burning along the nerves in my body, to use my Force sensitivity, though it’s getting better with time — to find where Ben is in my bungalow. He’s in the studio, training. I sense his concentration, but also his feeling that there is an emptiness in front of him — my absence as his sparring partner. _My_ absence, not somebody else’s. Butterflies start up in my stomach and I smile.

 _Me. He’s thinking about me_ , my silly brain says. My feelings are treacherous, I remind myself.

Ben and Hux have been checking in on me about every hour, so when Hux comes in this time, I ask him to sit with me. I’ve had a fear of being alone, ever since my struggle with the kyber crystal. It’s there, in my jewelry box, still, and it is waiting. It must know that I’m too weak to corrupt it now, but it also knows that if I die, I will never deliver it to the girl. Not that I intend to, but the Force has ways of making things happen. _No_ , I think, remembering more poetry. _It is a way of happening_.

Hux sits on the bed next to me, scratching Millicent behind the ears.

“I’ve been in conference with Thanisson,” he says grimly.

“Really? I wish I could have been there for that. He hates me so much.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Oh, please. He’s probably _incensed_ that you’ve run off with me and left him alone.”

He smiles smugly. “Well, perhaps. Loyalty is a good trait in subordinates.”

“You’re really into this superior-subordinate thing, aren’t you?”

“There has to be a chain of command for a military to run smoothly and effectively,” he says, puzzled.

It’s not the first time he’s not caught my innuendo. In so many ways, Hux is an innocent. And in so many more he is not.

“What did Thanisson say?”

“It was something of a trick to try to get at a plot against the Supreme Leader while seeming to talk about a plot against me,” he says. “But I emphasized the unity of First Order leadership — of the Supreme Leader and myself — and said it would be a blow to the First Order should harm befall either of us. He seemed a bit surprised.”

“You should have let me sit in on the call, Armitage,” I say. “I could have told you if he was holding anything back.”

“You’re in no condition for that.”

He looks at me as if I am a flower who has declared itself a redwood tree. The poppies tattooed around my right arm tingle as I think of those hardy flowers that grow through asphalt and cling to rocks, strong and gentle at once.

He seems to catch my annoyance. “Your dedication to your responsibilities is commendable, Counselor,” he says with mock formality and sincere sentiment. “That aspect was taken care of, so don’t worry. The Supreme Leader was in the room when I spoke to him, and he sensed that behind Thanisson’s very stoic facade, he was quite surprised indeed— confused, even.”

“The Supreme Leader and you cooperating? No bloodstains on my floor, I hope.”

He smiles. “No, none at all.”

“I’m impressed.”

We look at each other for a moment, until Hux looks away.

“Well, here’s the important part, Counselor,” he says, straightening his posture. “I had a report run of Thanisson’s movements. I matched them with those of LX-6497 and found a peculiar common point.”

“Oh?”

“They never interacted with each other, that we know, but they both made contact, multiple times, with a droid in the wardrobe department.”

“Wardrobe,” I say.

“A protocol droid.”

“Oh… LZ-87.”

“Yes. Thanisson has no recollection of interacting with this droid, so we must assume that he passed the plot through LZ-87 and took the drug. LX-6497’s contact was after Thanisson’s, so—”

“So the droid is the link in the chain between Thanisson and Lussix,” I finish.

“Well, no — Ren and I believe there was another person involved.”

“Ellzee is Madame Sten’s assistant,” I say, sinking.

“Yes. And who — besides you — has regular access to the Supreme Leader’s person?”

“But…” My thoughts spin as I try to form a different theory. “No! I trust Madame Sten. I’ve never sensed anything treacherous in her.”

“Nor has the Supreme Leader.”

“But Lussix tried to kill _you_ , not the Supreme Leader. What happened?”

“That is what we hope Madame Sten knows.”

“You don’t have her held in the brig or anything do you?”

“Not yet. Given her position, she’s remained in her quarters like most non-essential staff, and the droid has been shut down for now. They will need to be questioned.”

“And you want me to do it.”

“You _are_ the best person to do it, as soon as you’re well enough.”

“All right,” I say.

I think of how Madame Sten was a cypher to me in my early weeks on the _Finalizer._ She was handmaiden to the wife of a Jedi. She knows how to close her mind.

“I wish I didn’t have to bring you this information, Miranda,” Hux says. “You look weary. The Supreme Leader warned me about disturbing your rest, so I best get out of your hair, so to speak,” he says.

“No,” I say. “Please. Stay here with me. Having something to talk about makes me feel better.”

Hux hesitates, then nods and swings his long legs around, putting his feet on the bed. He leans against the headboard, next to me. Millicent gets up and squeezes herself into the space between our hips. And now we are no longer the General and Chief Counselor, but Armitage and Miranda.

“The other day, on the beach —” he says, “I thought you wanted nothing more to do with either of us.”

“I didn’t.”

“But?”

“But… I don’t know. I’m just so tired, Armitage. I can’t struggle against everything right now. I need someone to be here for me, and you’re here.”

Hesitantly, he reaches out his hand and places it on top of mine. The contrast between his pale, freckled skin, and mine, browned deeper by the sun, is enough to occupy my tired mind for a few minutes. We sit together in comfortable silence.

“What would you have been if you weren’t a General?” I ask him finally.

I feel him mulling over the question with a sense of bafflement.

“I’ve never even thought about it,” he says. “Being who I am, having the father I did, it never occurred to me to be anything else.”

“Well, just imagine. There’s no First Order. There’s no long shadow of a father’s legacy. You can be anything in the galaxy you want to be.”

“An engineer, then,” he says. “Or an architect.”

I nod. “I can see that. Hux and Associates Design, the most sought-after architecture firm in the Core Systems.”

Hux considers this for a moment. “This is what you did with the stormtroopers,” he says. “When you asked them about their ‘specialties’, as you called them.”

“I wanted them to know I saw them as individuals,” I say. “As people. And that they could see themselves that way.”

“And you want the same for me?”

“Yes, of course. Snoke tried to take that from you — from you and Ben. He tried to make you tools instead of people.”

He’s still not used to me calling the Supreme Leader by his birth name, so he dabbles with the ends of my fingers while he moves past the discomfort.

“What about you? What would you be if you weren’t a jewelry-selling, Supreme Leader-advising, secrets-extracting, ship-piloting former Jedi?”

How do we do this? How do we fall back into this ease, after everything, after I try so hard to remind myself what he is? Here I am beside him again, and feeling better for it.

I smile. “That’s easy,” I say. “I would be a queen.”

He wants to kiss me. And I want to let him. So I do. He touches his fingertips to my cheek as he presses his lips to mine very softly, as if afraid he will break me.

“I thought you were going to die,” he says when we part and he nestles his head against my neck. “And I thought about what would happen — just Ren and I alone here, and you dead, and….”

“You managed to talk to each other without me, so it wouldn’t have been _that_ bad.”

“Don’t joke,” he says. “It would have been a horror.”

I want to say, _You’ve caused far worse horrors for so, so many people_. And yet I also _don’t_ want to. I want Hux to face who he is, what he is, but I know I can’t shame him into it. He deserves to be shamed. He deserves to be thrown to the survivors of his sadistic policies to let them punish him however they want. Perhaps that is what’s behind Ben’s contempt for him, all those times he’s dragged him across floors and thrown him into walls — he knows that Hux is someone who deserves pain. But that is not what I am here to do.

I tease him instead.

“You’re so sentimental, General,” I say. “I never would have expected it.”

“I _am_ human. I have feelings.”

“Yes, _just like everyone else does._ ” I sing this rather than saying it. “General or slave, we’re all the same in that.”

Does he take my meaning? I sense him resisting it, so, yes, he does.

He presses his lips together. “Where would you be queen, if you were one?” he asks.

Ah, so he’s hitting back. If I’m going to call out his sadism, he’s going to remind me of my vanity.

“I’m too old to be queen of Naboo. And Alderaan is gone. Maybe the First Order could give me a planet to rule. Somewhere quiet and relatively undeveloped, but near the Core. Is there a civil war going on anywhere on a world like that? You could descend and bring peace, and install me as a symbol of their salvation.”

Hux seems to honestly be mulling over the question until I laugh.

“Armitage, I’m kidding! Can you imagine — me as some kind of First Order goddess empress blessing her newfound children with her munificence?”

I address the last sentence to Millicent, for some reason. She slow blinks at me.

“I can, actually,” he says.

So can I. And that is the problem.

“What was that you were singing?” he asks, after a time.

“Ah, Armitage! The question means you’re ready!”

“For what exactly?”

“Four boys from a dreary, damp place who embraced their greatness and would take the world by storm, only to have conflict drive them apart. Their frontman became an icon, a demigod for the lonely and disaffected, only to squander his legacy with bitterness and bigotry.”

“What _are_ you talking about, Counselor?” Hux, another boy from a dreary, damp place, asks.

I grin at him.

I call out to my house, “Play songs by The Smiths.”

* * *

Ben meditates with me every morning when we wake and every evening before we sleep. Well, before _I_ sleep, anyway. He stays up much of the night pacing and reviewing the vids of the interrogations he and Hux have been carrying out.

My self in the Force, or at least how I envision it, has taken on a strange, pulsating quality, the Dark and the Light fractured and changing, like static. I have someone else for whom to pour my compassion into the Light — Lora San Tekka. But as I do so, I am sitting on my bed with her father’s killer, holding his hands, and I feel no remorse coming from him. I let him feel my guilt; I let him see the struggle. But I feel in him only the same unspecific conflict.

I’m feeling better today, so I open my eyes and say to him, “You’re holding back. This won’t work unless you open yourself. I might as well be meditating with Hux.”

“You’re not strong enough yet,” he says, ignoring my barb and opening his own eyes to meet mine. He squeezes my hands.

“Try me,” I say.

He pushes his lips into a pout and shakes his head. His eyes are shining with repressed emotion.

“I don’t want you to feel that,” he says in a low, rough voice.

“Feel what? What are you keeping yourself from meditating on?”

He breathes out slowly, “Han Solo,” he says.

Ah. It is a moment he’s pushed down so deeply that I have never even glimpsed it. Like the massacre at the Temple, it may be a memory I’m better off never seeing.

“Fathers seem to be troublesome creatures,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “Between what you and Hux say, I think I got the best deal, not having one.”

“You still had one,” Ben says. “You just don’t know who he is. Everyone has a father.”

“Your dear Darth Grandad didn’t.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Anakin, then.”

Ben’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t let go of my hands.

“Honestly, Ben, who is he when you feel him in the Force? Is he Anakin or is he Vader?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Luke said he saw him, after he died, and he was Anakin. That must be who he is.”

“Luke could have lied.”

“I don’t think he lied about that. Or about seeing Yoda or Obi-Wan Kenobi, either. Those were Anakin’s fathers — the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan. Just like Luke and Han were mine — or nearly.”

Their fates don’t need to be spoken of for us to dwell on them for a moment.

“I wish I could have known Obi-Wan,” I say. “The mistakes Luke made with you were the same ones Obi-Wan made with your grandfather.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why do they choose to appear when they do, I wonder. Why weren’t they there to help us in the Temple, when we were just kids trying to hold off the darkness?”

We’ve left off any pretense of returning to meditating. I lean back on my pile of pillows and Ben lies down with his head on my lap. I twist his hair between my fingers.

“Maybe they don’t care about what happens here anymore,” he says. “Maybe they knew that whatever path that would take me would take me no matter what they did.”

“Don’t believe in inevitabilities, Ben.”

“It’s kind of hard not to, you know?”

He turns over to look up at me and taps two of his fingers on my cheek. No reason, just to touch me.

“Have you ever seen someone in the Force like that?” I ask.

“No.”

“But you’ve wished you could. Your grandfather.”

“Yes.”

“Me too. Luke. I know how it is with you two, but I miss him.” I consider whether I should tell Ben that I’ve felt Luke’s presence, but immediately realize he already knows. “Do you feel him too?”

“Sometimes.”

“I think I must be an awful disappointment to him right now.”

“Don’t,” he says. “You’ll play right into his ‘disappointed uncle’ act.”

Ben is almost smiling up at me now, as we both remember the time when we were eighteen, too old to be told what to do, we thought. We took a speeder and left the Temple for an adventure in the seedier parts of Hanna City. We came back two days later, hungover and having parted ways with all our credits — and completely without remorse. Luke made us try to explain how our conduct was in keeping with the Jedi Code. I concocted something about having to experience vice in order to appreciate virtue, and he said —

“‘ _Amazing. Every word of what you just said was wrong,_ ’” Ben and I recite together.

And he laughs. Actually laughs with me as we remember our master’s mock-stern face and his immediate orders to go clean the sparring droids.

“Oh, Suns,” I say, throwing my head back. “I _hated_ when he said that. And he _knew_ how annoying it was!”

“That he did,” Ben says. He doesn’t stop smiling, but there’s darkness in his voice when he adds, “He knew exactly _how_ annoying I would find it, too.”

He’s not talking about our time in the Temple anymore.

I try to hold it back as I feel it well up in me, but the grief overwhelms me, and I am crying. I am crying so much lately. When Ben notices, he immediately sits up, takes both my hands, and looks at me in alarm.

“What is it?” he asks as if he doesn’t know. And then, pulling me two him, so my cheek is against his chest, and my tears are soaking through his shirt, and his arms hold me steady as my body shakes with sobs, and his lips are pressed into my hair, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Words I was sure I would never hear him say. I can’t ask him what, of all the wrongs he’s committed against me, against everyone, he’s sorry for. He’s not even sure of it himself. But my heart is breaking again as I think of my dead master and my dead friends — and of Ben Solo, who, unknown to me at the time, caught the attention of a gnarled, scarred being who watched in the Hanna City shadows as two AWOL young Jedi lost themselves in revelry for a precious 40 hours.

He is sorry for my pain, for the lifetime of loss that he gave me. He is sorry, and he has told me.

All it took was me almost dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Ben would be great as an early-80s Manchester band, wouldn’t they? I’m remaking England Is Mine, but with Armitage Hux as Steven Patrick Morrissey and Ben Solo as John Martin Maher. My favorite part of that movie is when Johnny comes to visit Steven, and Steven asks him “Do you want some toast?” And sweet baby Johnny says, “Yeah, sure” as if it’s not even a weird question. THAT SCENE, EXCEPT WITH HUX AND BEN
> 
> The poem Mira quotes from is "In Memory of W.B. Yeats" by W.H. Auden.
> 
> Housekeeping: I revised the color of Hux's sofa in chapter 12.
> 
> Next Chapter: Oops.


	30. I Don’t Have to Sell My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHANGE OF PLANS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this song is from “I Wanna Be Adored” by The Stone Roses.

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY** _

My strength has returned steadily, and just three days after my struggle with the crystal, I am able to leave my room on my own for an hour at a time. I am sitting in the garden before the heat of the day takes over when Farah comes to visit. I quickly close the correspondence from the pharmaceutical companies I was reading and set my datapad down as I hear her voice inside. She greets “Wil” and “Bail,” who are cleaning up after breakfast with a level of cooperation that is almost frightening, before coming outside.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to walking in here and seeing those two,” Farah says, companionably, handing me a cup of tea. “They’ve been taking good care of you, though, it seems.”

“They have,” I agree.

The tea is in a mug that says _Visit the Silver Sea_. A souvenir from Ben’s and my Hanna City adventure. As soon as I touch it, I know he used to send me a message about our shared memory. I bite my lip. Farah sits down next to me on the garden bench. I feel a certain trepidation coming from her. Anxiety.

“You seem a lot better, so it’s time to talk,” she says.

Ah. I feel myself trying to shrink, pulling my dressing gown tighter around myself, drawing in my elbows and knees.

“I told you, Farah. I’ve told you everything I can.”

“I know. But I have a feeling _this_ is going to make you re-evaluate what you can tell me.”

She pulls a mobile holoprojector from her purse and holds it in her palm. It activates, and _Galaxy Insider_ , a shouty gossip show comes on.

“Farah, do you think news about some starlet’s plastic surgery has anything to do with me?”

“No. Keep watching.”

On the vid is a reporter, groomed within an inch of her life. “ _For our first story_ ,” she says in a honeyed voice, “ _is some_ very rare _video that gives us a glimpse into the secret, innermost workings of The First Order._ ”

My stomach lurches, then drops.

“ _Now, there is no sound on the brief video, which was provided to Galaxy Insider exclusively by a source who was on board the_ Finalizer _, The First Order’s flagship._ ” On the shaky video, which appears to have been taken from behind one of the huge banners, is an array of officers standing in formation, Hux at the head of them as they flank the red carpeted aisle in the cavernous banquet hall. “ _As you can see, all of the Order’s major players gathered last week for a sumptuous celebration. But of what? Or who?"_

“Who indeed?” Farah says.

“ _Whom_ ,” I say sulkily.

And there we are — Ben and I, as we enter the hall. I hardly look like myself, armored as I am in my formal corseted dress and elaborate coiffure. But I see my own slight smile; my own way of holding my head, slightly tipped; my own way of looking at Ben, as if he is the whole galaxy.

“ _Who is this mystery woman, arm-in-arm with a man who our source identified as the rarely-seen Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, apparently being celebrated by The First Order’s High Command_? _Our source would not divulge the dark-haired beauty’s name, but tells us she has the ears of both the Supreme Leader_ and _General Armitage Hux._ ”

An image of Hux and me, when he was introducing me to officers and he rested his hand on my arm and whispered to me. I smile, whisper back. The vid catches our eyes meeting with definite exchange of meaning in the glance.

“ _Galaxy Insider will stay abreast of this story, and if there’s any new information about The First Order’s femme fatale, you’ll find it exclusively here first_.”

The screen shows a still from the vid — Ben and I on the dais as everyone applauded us. I look haughty, self-assured, not at all like a woman who is reciting mnemonic devices in her head to remember all of the officers’ names.

Farah switches off the vid and looks at me.  

“Well?” she asks.

“Is that all there is?”

“Yes. Should there be _more?_ ”

I let out a breath. Nothing of Ben’s and my speeches, nothing of the assassination attempt, or the lightsabers. Perhaps whoever leaked this vid has some of those moments and is going get the First Order to pay them off not to leak those, too.

“You seem awfully calm about this,” I say finally.

“ _Calm?_ ” she says. “I had to run three klicks before I came here to bring me down I was so freaked out. _You are fucking the Supreme Leader and top General of the First Order_.”

I shrug. “Sort of?”

“ _Sort of?_ What the hell does that even _mean_?”

“Well, Armitage and I —”

“Armitage!” she says. “General Armitage Fucking Hux! _Kylo Ren?_  I — I just — I don’t even know what to say, Iz. How did you even _meet_ them? Were _they_ at the Chandrilan spa? Were you even _at_ a Chandrilan spa?”

“No,” I whisper. “Who else knows?”

“Nobody,” she says. “Some tourists on their way south got lost and left this in the café. You better believe I snatched it up when I saw what they had been watching.”

I try to stand. “I have to — we have to — we can’t stay here.”

Farah puts her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t, Iz. Please, we’ve been friends for _years_. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

“Miranda,” I say.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Miranda. Mira. Mira Galan.”

She breathes in deeply. “All right. Yeah. That’s fine. Lots of people change their names. _I_ did. I had a damn good reason. Why did you?”

“So The Knights of Ren wouldn’t find me. So Kylo Ren wouldn’t find me”

Farah furrows her brow and shakes her head. “But… Obviously, he _did_ find you and you’re fine, right? He didn’t hurt you or mind torture you or whatever he does?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“But why were the goddamn _Knights of Ren_ after you? I don’t know anything about all this… _Galactic_ stuff. I don’t understand.”

Something occurs to me. “Farah, you just walked into my house and breezed right by Hux and Ben like _nothing_. Weren’t you scared?”

“I was _fucking terrified_ , are you kidding me? But I remembered that trick you told me about picturing a white bantha, and — Wait. Who is Ben?”

“Ben is Kylo Ren,” I say.

“Oh. Pet names. You have a pet name for the Supreme Leader. That’s fine.”

“Farah, I know this is really, really, _really_ bizarre. I just don’t know how much I should tell you.”

I decide I should _not_ tell her who Kylo Ren really is, that’s for certain. It’s known in the First Order High Command and by a few in the Resistance, but not generally outside of them.

“Well, start with Miranda Galan. Who is she?”

I explain that she’s me — that everything about Tatooine and my mother I ever told her was true.

“I never constructed an alternate history for myself,” I say. “I just left some parts out.”

“What parts?”

“The parts about when I went to Chandrila.”

“Chandrila again.”

“It’s where the Supreme Leader is from,” I explain.

“Ah. And what were you doing there?”

“Going to school. Leia and my mother were friends, and she sensed I had… potential.”

“Leia?”

“Senator Leia Organa,” I say.

“Of course. A Senator. Only natural.”

“Her brother was starting a school for kids like me — so she thought it would be good for me to attend.”

“Wait. Senator Organa’s brother is… what’s-his-name, that laser sword dude.”

“Luke Skywalker,” I say. “Yeah, so I went to train with him —”

“Wait wait wait. You trained with _Luke Skywalker_. You’re one of those — those rock-floaty people?” She makes a vague Force-floating-rocks gesture.

“Jedi. Or laser-sword rock-floaty people. Whatever,” I say. “And yes. But no. Anyway, that’s where I met the Supreme Leader. Of course, he wasn’t the Supreme Leader then. He was my friend. He was gentle and trying so hard to cling to who he was. It’s complicated.”

“Well, no shit! And I thought it was complicated just because you’re in some kind of weird _ménage à trois_ situation —”

I hold up my hand in the universal _stop_ position. “It’s not like that.”

“ _General Armitage Hux is in love with you_. Even I’ve heard of him, even though I’ve never seen the prop vids. He’s supposed to be a complete sadist.”

I glance up at the kitchen window over the sink that looks into the garden, and Farah turns to look too. Inside, Hux is solemnly contemplating a spatula. He looks up and waves to us with it.

 “Yeah,” I say.

“And nobody knows _anything_ about the Supreme Leader.” She collapses back into the bench. “Oh my god, I served the Supreme Leader tacos. _Tacos_.  I thought he’d be more of a human blood kind of person. Is he even a person?”

“What? Of course he’s a _person_. What else would he be?”

“ _I don’t know_ , that’s just it. Remember about the Old Republic and their clones?”

“Clones were people too, Farah.”

“I know, it’s just… ugh, why are we talking about clones?” She puts her hands to her forehead for a moment. “So you and the Supreme Leader went to laser sword school together. And then he turned evil and you ran away so he couldn’t find you. But then he found you and whisked you away to a glamorous life of ruling the goddamn galaxy.”

“Yeah, basically.”

“But are you _good_ at ruling the galaxy?”

“Kind of? I don’t really do the ruling the galaxy part of things. I’m more of an advisor.”

“Are you going to make the First Order… I dunno, not so evil?”

I look at my hands. “I’m trying.”

“Ugh, Iz! I mean… oh fuck it. Even so, you’re complicit, you know? I don’t follow everything that goes on, but I hear stories here and there. They’re bad news.”

“I know. I was seriously considering staying here and not going back, but now I can’t. People are going to see this all over the galaxy. They _have_ seen it. I need to talk to Hux. We need to get our own prop vids out. Fortunately, the one of me reviewing the stormtroopers is done, so…” I trail off, muttering to myself.

“Reviewing the stormtroopers,” Farah says. “God, you’re one of them.”

I start and look up. “No,” I say. “No, I’m not. I’m just trying to protect myself now. This stupid gossip show… Who gave it to them? Why would they broadcast something like that?”

“Because freedom of the press?”

“I _know_ , Farah, but… ugh, it’s so frivolous. Ben is going to freak the fuck out.” And then, the patio door opens, and Ben, stone-faced and dressed in black, steps out. “And here he comes.”

Farah shrinks back. She’s afraid of him now. I scoot myself to the edge of the bench so that I’m between them.

“Counselor,” he says. He’s speaking in his Kylo Ren voice and already aware of what I’ve told Farah. “May I speak with you privately?”

Farah stands, shakily. “I’ll just be going —”

“You will remain in the house, please,” Ben says. “In Mira’s room. Leave the holo projector here.”

He phrases it like a mind trick command, but it isn’t one.

Farah nods wordlessly, hands me the projector, and goes inside. She looks at Hux as he nods while passing by her on his way out. He’s still in his pajamas but his bearing is that of the General that he is — so markedly different from how we saw him just a moment before. She looks back at me, and something in her eyes changes, and I see us as she must. I’ve also changed my posture, sitting straight, my foot untucked from underneath me, hands resting lightly on my lap. I look up at Ben and Hux expectantly. Our serious expressions mirror each other’s, our minds fixed on the same subject.

She’s seeing the First Order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of a show like Galaxy Insider is way too tickling for me. I wish I could lounge on my couch all day and watch it. I wanted to use it to establish how mysterious Kylo Ren is, even as he's the new Supreme Leader -- he has to be identified by the source because he's not known by sight.
> 
> Next chapter: Mira learns one of Hux’s secrets.


	31. She's Too Rough and I'm Too Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben gives Mira her way. Mira learns one of Hux's secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Pretty Girls Make Graves” by The Smiths.

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY**_  

We look at each other silently for a moment, as if expecting one of the others to speak first.

“Quit looming over me, both of you,” I finally say, indicating the wrought iron garden chairs.

They move the chairs closer and sit, facing me.

“How did —” I begin.

“Captain Peavey sent it to me,” Ben interrupts.

“The prop vid, “ I say. “The trooper meet-and-greet —”

“Already released,” Hux says.

“What has the reaction been?”

“ _Galaxy Insider_ picked it up, it looks like,” Hux says. “Both the vids are running side-by-side in several media sources. We released your name, so their source has been deprived on the chance to divulge that information.”

I contemplate this. “This doesn’t seem to be _such_ a bad thing. It’s doing what the Supreme Leader and I had planned, and it’s also showing the three of us as being united.”

Ben can’t keep still in the chair. He rises and starts to pace. “I don’t understand how this party got so fucking _out of hand_ ,” he says. “All of the activity — I should have sensed someone recording it.”

“It wasn’t _someone,_ ” I say. “It was _something_. Look at the height level of the recording. Look at the beginning of the clip with Hux, when I pick up a glass of wine.”

“A serving droid,” Ben says. He sighs. “We don’t have time for this. Hux, have Officer Unamo look into it. Whoever it was can be dealt with at a lower level. It was just some gossip monger.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux says. “Can we be sure of that, though?”

Ben turns to him impatiently. “If it turns out to be otherwise, we’ll deal with that then.”

Hux nods. “We’ll deal with the show that broadcast it too, I assume.”

“We’ll see,” Ben says.

“We need to make a new prop vid,” I say.

“Well, do it on the freighter,” Ben says. “We need to leave. Now, before someone here sees the vid and realizes they’ve seen _us_.”

The weariness in my body protests, but I nod. “I’m going to need help packing.”

“Have Farah help you,” Ben says.

“Ben, we can’t keep her _prisoner_ here.”

“We’ll keep her with us until we’re off this planet,” he says.

He holds out his hand and helps me stand. Hux looks on, worry crossing his face.

“Are you well enough to travel?” he asks.

“I’m _fine_ , Armitage,” I snap. Then, softening, “Thank you for being concerned, though.”

Farah is sitting on my bed when I go into my room, staring disconsolately at her feet. I sink down next to her.

“Are you going to let me go?” she says. She’s been crying and her mascara has run down her cheeks.

“Of course. But I need you to stay with me until we leave, all right?”

“You’re leaving today?”

“As soon as we can. Will you help me pack?”

She nods.

Hesitantly, I direct her to my closet, where my First Order uniforms hang. She holds them out on their hangers at arm’s length.

“Iz,” she says. “You’re going to go back to _this_. I saw you on that vid. You didn’t look like you. Can’t you stay?”

“Not now that everyone will know who I am.”

“No one else here knows.”

“People _will_ know. Hux released my prop vid in response to the leaked video. You’ll see it, and then you’ll see what I’ve turned into. Chief Counselor Miranda Galan, special adviser to the Supreme Leader of the First Order.”

She manages a sad smile. “It does sound pretty badass.”

“That’s how they do it,” I say. “They sell you an image of power, they give you a little — or at least the illusion of it — and they have you. I mean, look at all this.” I gesture at the sensual decadence of my bedroom. “At the Temple, we slept on homespun sheets. The floors were bare stone. We were supposed to be content without worldly goods, worldly wants, worldly passions.  But I’ve always wanted more. Glamour. Something to put on over who I really am to make me… I dunno… bigger. Larger than life. I hid it at the Temple. Except for once, I was the perfect student — obedient, maybe a little daydreamy, but applying myself anyway. Accepting that my power did not belong to me. Because I wanted to be a Jedi. But now I’m something different — I learned how to have a different kind of power here. And how I got it here is not so different from how I got it on the _Finalizer._ ”

“And how is that?”

Ben’s hissed words to me on that first night come back to me. _Whore. Whore like your mother._

“I used what men want from me,” I say. “Well, that and twelve years of training in hand-to-hand combat, strategy, rhetoric, and political theory, plus the ability to sense and use the Force.”

Farrah smirks at me. “So your pussy, right?”

“Pretty much.”

We laugh, and it is real but also strained and sad. Farah lets her eyes rove over the room, as if taking it in for the last time. Her gaze settles on the paper on my nightstand. It’s still partially rolled up, but it’s open enough for the Aurebesh calligraphy to show. She picks it up and unrolls it. Her breath catches.

“Did — who drew this?”

“The Supreme Leader,” I say.

“So when you said he was an artist….”

“I wasn’t lying.” I sit down next to her on the bed. “The man who drew this — he’s my friend from when we were kids. I know what he’s done since then, but it’s impossible for me to let go of who he is _to me_. And the Force — it holds us together somehow. I haven’t worked out why. According to Jedi teachings, the Force is always in balance, but when Ben and I are together…. There’s just so much Dark, and I’m struggling to keep it from taking over the Light. Maybe it’s the struggle itself that it wants. I don’t know.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s not something anyone but the two of us _can_ understand, I think. Without him, there’d be nobody in my life who really knows who I am.”

She nods sadly. “Everyone is going to miss you,” she says. “I missed you when you were away on your... whatever it was. And you’ve only been back for less than a week.”

Is that all it’s been? I sink, mourning for this life I’ve left behind and can never have again. If I ever come back, it will be in my First Order trappings, and I will come as a conqueror instead of a refugee.

“You know what?” I say. “No.”

“No what?”

“We’re not going to run away. This is my home, and nobody can hurt us here.” I take one of my uniforms off the hanger and lay it out on the bed.

“Iz, what are you doing?” Farah asks.

“Miranda,” I correct her. “Chief Counselor Galan.”

I feel a terrible but utterly exhilarating rush of strength — my doubts had been swirling around me, but I’ve reached out and pushed them down. I close my eyes and feel the Force around me. I pull it in, let it fill me. My self in the Force — I see it again now, no longer fritzing or wavering, but moving in waves. The Dark dominates, yes, but here and there it blends with the Light, and they move in and out of each other as if in a dance. We were taught to resist the Dark in the Temple — and for me it was to deny part of myself and to limit my power. I’m no longer willing to suppress it, though. _Feel your own power_ , Ben tells me, again and again. And I finally understand.

But still — still, I breathe to myself, _There is a light, and it never goes out_.

When I open my eyes, Farah is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite place. She’s afraid but also in a kind of awe at something she’s witnessed.

I find that I can stand on my own now. I am still tired and a bit weak, but the weariness that had settled on me has lifted.

“I need to speak to the Supreme Leader and General Hux,” I say. “Excuse me.”

Farah swears softly as I walk out of the room.

Ben and Hux are in the great room, looking at something on a datapad that Ben is holding. They stand so that their shoulders almost touch, the black of Ben’s hair and the gilded ginger of Hux’s contrasting as they tilt their heads over what they’re reading.

Ben notices me first and looks up, smiling slightly.  “Ah, I thought we’d see you in here soon.”

Hux looks up now, and if I ever doubted what Farah said about him being in love with me or his own words, such doubts would have disappeared seeing him now. His eyes light up as he sees me walking over to them, his lips trembling.

“Miranda…” he says. And then, gathering himself: “You look well, Counselor.”

“Thank you, General,” I say.

“Have you packed?” Ben asked. “Or is there something you want to tell us.”

He’s smirking. He knows exactly what is on my mind. He was there when the resolve came over me, and he’s there now, knowing my words before I speak them.

“I’ve decided,” I say. “We’re not leaving.”

Hux furrows his brow, a General in an instant. “ _You’ve_ decided. And just how did you come to this decision, may I ask?”

“It wasn’t a mistake to leave the _Finalizer_ ,” I say. “We shouldn’t go back, not yet. But we shouldn’t hide, either.”

Hux straightens himself, squaring his shoulders to me. “And what _should_ we do?”

“Armitage, as you’ve reminded me several times, you and the Supreme Leader are the two most powerful men in the galaxy. Contact Gaia’s Planetary Senate and inform them that they are hosting us. Then the three of us board the freighter as exactly who we are — Supreme Leader, General, Chief Counselor — and we take residence in the Senatorial Palace, where we will be secure. The senate takes a summer recess, and it’s vacant now.”

“This is rash,” he says. “Ill-thought-out.”

He looks over at Ben, whose face is now impassive, a Kylo Ren mask.

“Very,” I say. “But, you see, power works like that. The Gaian system is _your_ system, is it not?”

“Nominally.”

“Then make it _practically_. Call up a few units from a TIE squadron that hasn’t had any contact with any _Finalizer_ crew to be our escorts. Make a show of force. At the banquet, Ben and I vowed not to hide who and what we are. So _no hiding._ ”

Hux’s face undergoes a series of contortions before turns to Ben and says incredulously, “Ren, would you please…” He sighs. “Ah, well then. I see you two have conferred on the matter.”

“We’ll put in the orders,” Ben says. “Go ahead and finish packing, Mira. And then rest some more. You _are_ much better, but not quite well.”

Hux shakes his head. “Supreme Leader, we’re both very grateful that the Counselor has come through her illness, but this feels like an _indulgence._ ”

Ben doesn’t take his eyes from me. “And so what if it _is_ an indulgence, Hux? Think of the prop vids we’ll get from it.”

“This is for the glory of the First Order, General,” I say. “The glory of the three of us.”

 _Show me something glorious, General,_ I said to him, while we lay on the floor of his quarters, weeks ago. I say it him now, silently, with just a look.

He sniffs with just the barest suggestion of a smile, understanding, then nods and then turns to go to his room, his hands clasped behind his back.

Ben reaches out and takes my hand. Our skin, touching, zaps into life, and he draws me close to him. He studies me, as he has done so many times, his eyes taking in my face. We don’t need to speak. I see myself captured in the reflection in his eyes, looking up at him, all adoration. And I see my expression mirrored in his. As I stand on my toes to kiss him, I think, _This is the moment. This is what I’ll look back on and say, ‘There, that was when I knew I could never come back. That was when I knew he had me.’_

He holds me against him, lets me feel his want. The heat of it is like the fever that so recently gripped my body, and my need for him is even hotter.

But we have work to do. So we part. He puts his hand to my cheek.

“Rest,” he says. “Everything will be just as you want it in a few hours.”

* * *

Back in my room, after I’ve slept for an hour, I rise to dress. When I pull off my dressing gown, Farah gasps. She’s been dozing off and on, too, and walking around my room, standing and listening at the door.

“Which one of them did all that to you?” she asks.

I glance down — raw skin on one of my knees, an old greenish sparring bruise on my ribs, thumbprints on my upper arms, bite marks on my right breast and the inside of my thighs. Much of it is from after the firefight on the freighter.

“That would be the Supreme Leader,” I say. “But it’s all totally consensual.”

She gives me a studied look. “I hope you give as good as you get.”

“I always do.”

She shakes her head. “Girl, this is too weird.”

I shrug and commence with dressing. I tug the legs of my trousers straight, fasten each tiny hook on my tunic, clasp my belt, and pull on my gloves, the way Ben showed me, sliding them over each finger individually. I pull my hair back.

“How do I look?” I ask almost reflexively, the same way I’d ask if we were heading to town for a night at the bar.

“Impressively authoritarian,” she says. “Except for your feet.”

I glance down at my slippers. “No shoes in the house. Not even the First Order gets to break that rule.”

“Are you sure about this?” Farah says. “You’re going to let everyone see you like this? You’re going to be _this_.” She gestures up and down.

“Oh, yes,” I say.

I take a deep breath and start to stride out of my room, but then remember I’ve forgotten something. I go to my dressing table and open the locked drawer. I take my lightsaber from its box, lay it across my palms, and show it to Farah.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asks.

I hold it out and ignite it. Farah freezes in place, then takes a few steps back. I feel its light wash over my face, the old sensation of being one with my weapon, my intentions humming along with its. The room is too small to maneuver, but I long to show her what I can do — to finally be what I really am around her.

I deactivate it the moment I feel my own ego, as Luke taught us to do. I think of the cocky way Ben circles while swinging his lightsaber in loops, waiting for me to rise from the mat and resume sparring. Like a big cat, toying with prey. Luke wouldn’t like to think that Ben learned that from him, but uncle and nephew had more in common than they wanted to believe.  

I fasten the lightsaber to my belt.

“Well,” I say. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

The great room is empty, so I cross it to Hux’s room and peek in. He’s in uniform, sitting in an armchair and reading from a datapad. His hair is perfectly in place, his posture already as upright as if we were on the _Finalizer._ Millicent is lying on the bed and notices me before he does.

“Armitage,” I say.

He takes in a breath sharply and looks up. I feel a ripple of desire wash through him the moment he sees me in uniform. He stands.

“Where’s the Supreme Leader?” I ask.

“Prepping the freighter. Are you packed?”

“Yes,” I say. “You?”

“Yes.”

I move into the room and close the door behind me. The guest room is less lavishly decorated than the rest of my house, with art I’ve accumulated over the years in gilt frames hanging on light green walls, a gold velvet coverlet on the bed, which Hux has made with perfectly taut military corners.

We stand looking at each other. The room reflects his eyes perfectly, the green flecked with gold of them.

“Everything has been prepared, just as we —” he begins to say.

But I pull off my gloves and cross the room to press my body against his, put my hands on the back of his head, and kiss him. Kiss him the way he kissed me in the corridor of the _Finalizer_ , working his lips open with my tongue, biting at his bottom lip. I slide my hands around him, pulling myself closer, my breasts against his chest, our hipbones meeting, and I writhe against him until we are taut with desire. The sleek fabric of our uniforms make us slink against each other like snakes. He moves to put his arms around me, but I catch his wrists in my hands, pull him down into the chair and straddle him, never releasing his mouth from mine. Between my legs,  I feel him harden against me, and I grind myself down into him, craving the pressure of his body. He moans. I finally release his mouth from mine and for a moment we’re still, breathing in unison.

“Miranda, what are we doing?” he pants, and I want to fill myself with his befuddled expression, his clipped Imperial voice, his pulse that I feel rushing beneath my fingers as I grasp his wrists.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I felt you want me, and I wanted to — I didn’t question it.”

“You and Ren both,” he says, his forehead resting against mine as he catches his breath. “Such creatures of your passions.”

I release his wrists, where I’ve left red imprints of my fingers, and begin unhooking his tunic, not taking my eyes off him.

“What happened between you two?” I ask, revealing the white skin of his throat, the hollows of his clavicles. I put my lips to the half-moon where they meet, savoring the scent of standard-issue First Order soap and the faint tang of his skin.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Something had to have happened for you to make such a big show of hating each other.”

“Nothing happened.”

I have his tunic and shirt halfway open now. I slide my hand against his bare ribs, thinking of how surprised I was when I first saw how slender he is, how slight, the delicacy of his wrists and fingers. Thinking how I long to feel my body against his smooth skin, the strange comfort of being in the arms of this man who has committed such cruelty yet also adores me, how different it will be now, when I can enjoy him freely after spending so many weeks sure I would eventually have to kill him.

 _Nothing happened_ , I think. And I think, too, of the looks he and Ben exchange across rooms, their heads tilted together over a datapad, the warmth of their bodies as I lay between them while I was sick.

“Ah,” I say, looking up at him. “ _Nothing_. And that’s just the problem.”

A flush spreads across his chest up to his cheeks, and I know I’ve hit upon something.

“There’s always another emotion under hate,” I say, running my lips down his breastbone now. “For me, it’s loss, grief. I hate Kylo Ren because of he is the cause of that pain. But for you…”

He tenses, holds his breath.

“Don’t worry, I’m not looking at your thoughts,” I say. “But I can’t help but feel it — the shame, the disgust. Not because you're both men — no, it's that you don't want to feel this about someone you're sure will reject you. You hate that you can't control your feelings.”

He shudders.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to find that much. It’s just that in moments like this —”

His body bucks as I put my tongue to his nipple. Between my legs, through our uniforms, his cock throbs against me.

“You can overcome it,” I say. “The shame, I mean, not the desire. I’ll help you.”

“Please,” he says. “Stop.”

I look up at him. “All right,” I say.

I sit up and study his face once again. I put my fingertips on his cheekbones, run them along the lines of his pale eyebrows, the perfect bow of his lips.

“What are you doing when you look at me like that?” he asks.

“Admiring your face.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s beautiful, you dummy.”

He gives me the familiar look of astonishment, so I laugh softly. Has no one ever told Armitage Hux that he’s beautiful? I turn my body so that I’m sitting across his lap, legs slung over the arm of the chair, and nestle against his shoulder. The heat of the moment passes and we let ourselves become calm.

“This,” he says, “is all wrong.”

“Why is that?”

“You give me too many reasons to hope — and fear,” he says. “What I do, what Ren and I both do, it only works if I have a certain detachment from the condition of being _human_. ”

“We’re different people when we’re doing First Order business, though.”

“It’s becoming difficult to — how did you put it? Compartmentalize. Caution is not a trait I am known for, and now I find myself asking whether my actions will put you in danger.”

“ _Me_ in danger?” I scoff. “May I remind you who here saved the other’s life?”

“You may. Did I ever thank you properly for that?”

“No,” I say. “You were too busy insulting my honor.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Which you apologized for. But not quite as the Supreme Leader ordered you to.”

“Is that so?”

“As I recall, he told you to get on your belly and beg my forgiveness.”

“That can be arranged. The last time I was on my belly in front of you, it was quite enjoyable.”

“Are you flirting with me, General?”

He sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

I refasten his shirt and tunic, then push his hair back in place.

“Be your entire self, Armitage,” I say. “Don’t hold back anything. It’s the only way to own your power. Remember what I said? You contain multitudes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Mira, what are you doing? Leave that poor man _alone_!
> 
> But seriously, I hope I telegraphed this sufficiently so it doesn’t seem to come out of nowhere. I didn’t want to overdo it, but there were hints.
> 
> Next chapter: The kids put on a show.


	32. What Costume Shall the Poor Girl Wear?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Order makes its appearance on Gaia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “All Tomorrow’s Parties” by The Velvet Underground and Nico (I quite like Rasputina’s cover)
> 
> I'm posting an extra chapter on Friday the 13th! - for luck.

_**Bonny Doon, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY**_  

When Ben returns from prepping the freighter, Hux, Farah, and I are sitting in front of the vid screen watching the latest episode of _Galaxy Insider_. The media has figured out from birth records that I am from Tatooine and the show has sent a crew there to look for my supposed origins. The reporter scrambles after desert-hardened farmers, trying to get them to talk.

“No one will remember the daughter of a former slave girl,” I scoff. “Anakin Skywalker, boy wonder podracing champion, was taken away by Jedi under cover of a two-sunned afternoon in the shiniest spacecraft in the galaxy, and no one ever thought to say, ‘Hey, is that Luke Skywalker any relation?’”

Hux laughs with a sneer. “The people on these pathetic desert planets — I expect the heat has addled their minds.”

“Watch it,” I say. “The people on these ‘pathetic’ planets are too concerned with surviving day-to-day to concern themselves with much else. Maybe I’ll take you to Tatooine sometime and show you where I used to live. _How_ I used to live.”

Hux _hmphs_ in reply.

In the corner of the screen, the prop vid of me speaking to the stormtoopers with Hux looking on approvingly plays on a silent loop, interspersed with stills of Ben and me on the dais and Hux resting his hand on my arm from the leaked vid. The reporter, standing in an expanse of sand while the wind whips at her hair, is speculating about how my childhood days must have differed from my life in the “pomp and pageantry” of the First Order as she gestures at the dunes.

“They’re calling me _Lady Ren_ , Supreme Leader,” I say without turning to look at Ben. “Issue a decree or something to make them stop.”

He sighs deeply and sniffs at the air. “Drugs again,” he says.

“You were gone a _long time._ ”

“Hardly. And it didn’t occur to you that there may have been something else to do?”

“I’m still an invalid, I remind you.” I say it lightly, but my nerves still feel strained and sore, and the cannabis helps.  “And anyway, this is _research,_ ” I say. “We need to know what everybody is seeing and hearing about us.”

“Why do I get the feeling you love this,” he says.

“Because you can feel that I love this,” I say. “They’re doing our work for us.” I nudge Hux, who is sitting beside me while I lie on the sofa, with my foot. “Armitage, this is a lesson. The First Order has never really made use of the free press to fullest advantage.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Hux says. “They’re fickle. Mark my words, in a week they’ll be on to whatever twaddle next catches their fancy.”

“Well,” I say, “then we had better start coming up with some shiny twaddle.”

Hux cocks an eyebrow at me.

“ _Twaddle,_ ” I say, and we snicker.

From her place on the rocking chair, Farah shrinks back as Ben comes farther into the room. But he merely flops down in the armchair and watches the screen with us for a few moments, his face inscrutable, except for the tightening of his jaw, the faint twitch in his left eye. He hates seeing his face captured on screen.

“Has Officer Unamo found the person who leaked the vid?” I ask him.

Ben glances at Farah. “We’ll talk about it later,” he says. “We need to get on the freighter. Our escort will be arriving shortly. Or are you and Hux going to appease your vanity all day here?”

I roll my eyes at him and ease myself up. “I’ll leave a message for Lupe about the house. Fare, come with me?”

She follows me to my room.

“What is it?” she asks me, her arms still crossed, when I close the door.

“You’re mad at me.”

“Well, no shit, Ms. Jedi Mind Reader! I don’t have to explain _why_ , do I?”

“No. But, Farah — you can come along, you know.”

“ _What_.”

“Come to the capital with me, have an adventure.”

“An adventure? With the First Order. _What is wrong with you?_ ”

“Why are you suddenly so scrupulous about politics? You never cared before.”

She sinks down on my bed. “I don’t know. It always seemed so far away before. I didn’t know my best friend was a freaking _Jedi_ who used to date the Supreme Leader.”

“We never dated. Jedi don’t _date_.”

“Whatever.”

“Please, Farah. I need someone who knows me.”

And then I realize. I am asking of Farah the same thing Ben asked of me, when he was Kylo Ren on the holocalls. I don’t want to lose myself, just as he didn’t want to lose the part of himself that is still Ben Solo.

“No,” Farah says. “I’ll see you off to your ship, and you can send me holo messages and call me.”

I nod. “All right.”

I’ve put myself here, I know. I am isolated — I will once again be ensconced in a world that is not my own, with Ben the only person who knew me before I arrived in the sleek cruelty of First Order.

“Hey,” Farah says, seeing my expression. “I understand why you did what you did. Nobody wants to live hiding who they really are. And you told me as much of the truth about you as you could.” She takes my hands in hers. “You have your name back, but your name isn’t all that you are.”

I smile. “You corny bitch. Thank you.”

* * *

We walk to the freighter silently. The porter droid pulls a trolley loaded with our trunks — and Millicent, indignant as ever in her carrier. The kyber crystal is packed away in mine, silent, waiting. I considered leaving it, but I feel that I have to keep it near me. As long as I have it, I know that she doesn’t.

We’ve nearly reached the airfield when a star destroyer jolts out of hyperspace in the pale blue sky above. Hux pauses, his hands behind his back, to gaze up at it. Here it is, then. The First Order on Gaia, done at my request. Next to me, Farah lets out a long breath.

“Fuck,” she says.

“I said the same thing when I saw one of those,” I say.

“It’s the _Absolution_ ,” Ben says, giving Hux a sidelong glance. “It just happened to be the closest star destroyer in our fleet on a nonessential mission.”

“Well, how very _coincidental_ ,” Hux says.

There’s something more than sarcasm in Hux’s voice, though. He’s anxious. I exchange a look with Farah and shrug. There’s some history there, but then, there’s a mountain of history between those two that I’m only beginning to sort through.

The appearance of the _Absolution_ in the sky soon brings out sky gazers from the sleepy bars in duracrete buildings with peeling paint near the airfield. They’re a jaded lot, spacers who stop in for drinks and sabbac games before heading out on their next run. They didn’t give any attention to when Ben and Hux arrived the first time, nor when we returned, but a First Order star destroyer is something else entirely.

“Counselor,” Ben says, in his low Supreme Leader voice. “By my side, please.”

“You don’t have to stay with us,” I whisper to Farah, but she shakes her head, her face set in determination.

I stride to get in step with Ben and Hux, walking between them in my Chief Counselor posture. I lift my chin and under the brim of my cap, I see them — human and non-human, grizzled old men and tough women and fresh-faced newcomers to the spacing life alike — their gazes lowering to take us in. Their eyes widen, their mouths go slightly agape. We are in full First Order regalia, encased in black, all sleek fabric and polished leather, no skin showing save our faces. Ben and I carry our lightsabers on our hips; Hux, his blaster. The sound of our boots crunching on the gravel path becomes unnaturally loud as a stillness overtakes the environment around us. Far off, a red-winged blackbird trills out its call.

We are approaching a bar, where the patrons have started to draw back from the road. Ahead of us, speeders have stopped and the drivers who had gotten out to look at the sky edge back to their vehicles.

“Is that…?” a bar denizen whispers as we pass.

Just then, six TIE fighters streaking down from the star destroyer become visible. The people on the road find their voices and cry out in fear, running back into buildings, freezing in place, or dropping to the ground. Some, I see, though, have their hands hovering over their own blasters holstered on their sides.

 _— Sending down half a squadron?_ I think to Ben. _Was that necessary?_

— _We agreed on a show of force._

— _Not here. Everyone is scared out of their minds._

I stop walking. Hux and Ben look back at me with questioning expressions.

— _Trust me_ , I think to Ben, just as I did at the banquet.

I clasp my hands in front of me and turn to the people in front of the bar. They look back expectantly, warily. A quick scan tells me there is no immediate threat from them, though, and I know that Ben is just behind me, ready to stop any attack.

“Hello,” I say, letting my voice ring out as Leia taught us. “Please don’t be alarmed. I am Chief Counselor Miranda Galan. The Supreme Leader, General Hux, and I are making a tour of Outer Rim systems to better acquaint ourselves with these territories, for the good of both the worlds and the First Order.”

“We know what it means when the First Order ‘acquaints’ itself with a world,” a middle-aged woman in a dusty leather jacket mutters.

She draws back when she sees my attention turn to her, but I merely nod.

“I understand your trepidation,” I say. “We have been living in ugly times. But it is time for the strife to end and for us to find our way to trusting one another.”

A few of the people who had dropped to the ground have slowly risen. There’s a beat of silence as I let my eyes rove across the landscape and the people on it. This place — dry golden grass dotted with color, blue sky with hazy clouds, the steely blue ocean beyond the hills — has been my home for eight years. These people have been my neighbors. Farah stands behind me, looking at me as if I am someone she has never seen before. I smile at her, and then turn back to the people around us.

“Thank you,” I say as the squadron of TIEs drop into the atmosphere above our freighter. “May the Force be with you.”

Murmurs arise now as I turn and walk to Hux and Ben, who had the good sense to stand behind me in silent support, as if my remarks were planned.

“It’s her,” someone says. “The one we saw in the vid. It’s Lady Ren.”

I sigh. It seems the name has stuck.

Realization creeps through the two dozen people watching us as what I said registers — _the Supreme Leader, General Hux_. I see a few people holding holorecorders. _Good_. I direct more smiles in their directions, trying my best to look kind, despite the First Order severity of my uniform.

“Shiny twaddle,” Hux whispers to me as I fall in step with him and Ben.

“Indeed,” I say.

I stand at the bottom of the ramp of the freighter as the porter droid loads our luggage. I hold Farah’s hands in mine, tears welling in my eyes despite my best efforts to keep my First Order demeanor.

“Remember I’m still me,” I say to her. “Tell our friends I’m still me.”

“You better _stay_ you,” she says. “Don’t be evil.”

Her eyes flick to Ben and Hux standing behind me and then quickly retreat from them. She takes a deep breath in and then looks back them, fully this time.

“Try to deserve her,” she says.

Hux strides forward, unexpectedly, and makes a small bow at Farah. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss…. I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know your surname.”

“Farah is fine,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m glad to have met you, too.”

Hux takes it, in his chivalric, Imperial way. “I am indebted to you, Farah” he says, then nods and turns to board the freighter.

“What does he mean?” Farah whispers.

“You inspired him to make a confession,” I whisper back.

“Ah,” she says and winks.

Ben comes to stand next to me and holds out his hand in his awkward Ben Solo way. “Goodbye,” he says as she takes it and his hand fully envelopes hers. “I’ll keep her safe.”

Farah nods at him and considers his face for a moment. He almost looks away in embarrassment, but she finally breaks her gaze and turns back to me.

“Keep them in line,” she says to me.

She blinks back her own tears as I exchange a kiss on the cheek with her, and then Ben and I are walking up the ramp, then I am waving goodbye one last time as the door closes.

The three of us are in the lounge of the freighter once again, but such different people to each other from when we got to Gaia a week ago. For a moment we sit silently on the red sofa, our hands on our knees. Hux lets Millie out of her carrier and she hops up next to him, stretches luxuriously, and then curls up.

“We’ll fly to the capital with the squadron as our wingmen,” Ben finally says. “It’s not more than two hours away. When we get there, a delegation will meet us — the ambassadors from the four largest regions of the planet. Captain Peavey had a report prepared and sent to our datapads.”

Hux and I nod and Ben rises.

“You’re with me in the cockpit, Mira,” Ben says.

“You fly it out this time,” I say. “I’m suddenly really tired.”

He looks at me with concern, his dark eyes probing my face. He puts a gloved hand on my cheek. “What you did was… impressive,” he says.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader,” I say softly.

We walk to the cockpit, Hux following, and Ben opens the commlink to the TIE squadron leader.

“This is the….” He pauses, closes the commlink. “This ship doesn’t have a designation,” he says.

“Well,” Hux says. “What do you say, Counselor? Christen it.”

I know exactly what I will call it. I smile. “After a queen, then,” I say. “The _Cleopatra_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, fuck, it's the _Absolution_.
> 
> I’ve been trying to get across Ben’s and Mira’s connection getting stronger as the story goes on (and on and on — the word count is really getting out of control, sorry!). They’re able to communicate short thoughts telepathically now, and for some time Mira has been calling him "Ben" exclusively in her narrative voice.
> 
> I may have drawn from some personal experience in being slightly addled and watching trash TV.
> 
> Yes, that was a Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie reference.
> 
> Next chapter: Mira confronts what she fears most in a vision.


	33. I Am Lost, So I Am Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the Gaian Planetary capital, Mira must confront what she fears most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Milk” by Garbage

####  **_The Cleopatra, cruising above the surface of Gaia, early fall, 36 ABY_**

I lounge in the co-pilot seat while Ben does most of the flying, holding my datapad in my hand as I recite to Hux, who sits in the cockpit’s passenger seat.

 _"The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,_  
_Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;_  
_Purple the sails, and so perfumèd, that_  
_The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,_  
_Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made_  
_The water which they beat to follow faster,_  
_As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,_  
_It beggared all description: she did lie_  
_In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue,_  
_O’erpicturing that Venus where we see_  
_The fancy outwork nature. On each side her_  
_Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,_  
_With divers-coloured fans, whose wind did seem_  
_To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,  
And what they undid did."_

“So that’s poetry, is it?” Hux says. “And that’s your queen you speak so much about. Rather an overwrought way of describing a scene.”

“Oh, Armitage.”

I close the play and read through the replies from the pharmaceutical contacts. _We regret to inform the Chief Counselor that a thorough review of our records has discovered no pharmaceutical substances that precisely match the description provided_ , they read, in some variation or another. There are anaesthetics that will produce amnesia, but the person taking them will still be aware of the missing time and most likely remember taking it.

I sigh as I scroll through the messages until I come to one from Kirgalis Pharmaceuticals on Byss.

 _Byss_. The dark center of the universe, Luke called it.

 _Madame,_ the message reads.

I’m reminded of Hux speaking to me, all those months ago, when he addressed me the same way.

_Madame,_

_We are honored to receive your communication. We believe that we have the information you seek and will disclose what is necessary to the interest and beneficial for the glory of the First Order. However, due to the sensitive nature of such information, we must beg the favor of the Supreme Leader’s presence in order for his eminence to receive it. We will remain ready to coordinate logistics at the Supreme Leader’s convenience. Until then, we have the honor to be, Madame,_

_Your very humble servant,_

_Petrokis Vane_

My first reaction is pure panic. Ben _cannot_ go to Byss. It was the Emperor’s base of operations, in the galaxy’s Deep Core — dangerous to get to, even more dangerous to step foot on. I glance at Ben, whose attention is on flying the ship, though it’s such a simple thing to fly a freighter at cruising altitude that he’s not entirely focused on it. He’s listening to Hux and me talk, and pondering our next course of action once we arrive at the Senatorial palace. He’s thinking about me sitting beside him, too, so I give him a mental nudge before returning to my work. I have to figure out how do with this correspondence what I am doing with the kyber crystal for the girl’s lightsaber: Stall.

First, I look up Petrokis Vane in the First Order database. I’m surprised to see that they’re not human but Khommite — genderless, gray-skinned, with a ridged scalp. The Khommite have long developed medical knowledge and techniques, so it comes as no surprise that the First Order may have supported their operations. And the need for secrecy explains why the work was being done on Byss.

I’m going to have to talk to Hux about this. Later.

“Is everything under control here?” I ask Ben.

“Yes. Why?”

“I want to change before we arrive at the capital.”

“Change? Again?”

“Yes. I don’t want to arrive there looking like I’m part of the military. That’s fine for Hux, but I need to communicate that I am a diplomat, not a conqueror.”

Ben shakes his tousled head. “All right,” he says. “We’ll be arriving in a half hour, so try to be back by then.”

“I will.”

I squeeze by Hux on my way out and sense his uneasiness at being left alone with Ben, especially now that I’ve senses what is behind his obsession with his former rival for Snoke’s favor. I press his hand with mine as I pass, and he takes hold of my fingers, lightly, and almost immediately releases them.

I find the porter droid standing inert in the galley of the freighter.

“Hey,” I say to it, and the faint red lights behind its smoky surface activate. “Where’s my trunk?”

It whirs into motion and glides past me into the corridor behind the galley, which runs along the outer edge of the whole ship. As I follow it, Millicent, escaped from Hux’s cabin once again, appears out of the shadows and strolls alongside me, mewing softly every so often.

The droid pauses at a door halfway down the corridor. It opens onto a storage room where my trunk sits alongside Hux’s and Ben’s. I open mine and begin rummaging, but then I feel _it_ — the crystal, its hum insistent, prodding. I‘m, determined to ignore its demand for attention, but I soon feel the prickling of it searching my mind for a weakness. I open my jewelry box and pick it up.

“All right,” I say. “What do you _want?_ ”

And again my vision goes white, but this time there is something — a figure — very far away, as if at the end of a tunnel. I walk toward it, wondering just how it is I am moving so far through space in this vision while my body is presumably still in the _Cleopatra_ ’s storeroom. My breath is loud in the silence, but even and calm.

— _Look_ , the same voice says.

— _I am_ , I say back, impatiently.

As I near the figure, I see it is a girl. _The_ girl. Clearer than I have ever seen her. She’s dressed in desert garb of gauzy material, much like I used to wear on Tatooine as a child. I am seeing her as if through a window — or a mirror.

And she is seeing me. Me, in my black First Order uniform with the dragon on my shoulder, my lightsaber — ah, she’s noticed it — at my hip, my dark eyes, my black hair freed from its chignon and hanging to my elbows, my lips that have kissed Ben Solo more than she has ever imagined in her feverish dreams. She knows that in an instant.

We stand regarding each other for a moment. My instinct is to cut off this vision, to leave her with just this glimpse of me, but I want to know more about her. She furrows her brow at me. She is like the stormtroopers, impossibly young, with tanned, smooth skin, her hazel eyes intelligent and intent, her brown hair hanging loose on her shoulders. I move closer to the invisible barrier between us, and so does she. I am taller than she is, but her presence in the Force, which I feel now, is large, bright — almost encompassing. Still, seeing me, she is unsure of herself.

And then I see that she is holding something in her hand. A miniature holoprojector — and on it, the image of Ben and me on the dais at the banquet, a chyron below it calling me “Lady Ren.” I see now that tears have recently fallen on her cheeks. Ah, that’s what it is. She thinks that Ben is lost to her and lost to the Light, and that I am the reason for it.

All at once, the disdain, almost like what I felt for those dusty women from the Church of the Force rises in me. This girl, this little desert mouse, thought she could command Ben Solo’s affection? How could I have wept onto Ben’s chest, afraid she would take him from me? Why did I think I would someday have to defer to her, this child who knows Ben Solo no better than she knows the origin of the universe, compared to how I know him? I’ve united my power with his, but she refused him.

I almost laugh as I look at her. She is young, and she is lovely, but she isn’t what I am.

I know what I am. I know why men find their way into my bed. I know why Armitage Hux lusted after me the moment he saw me in a holoprojection — and I knew how to use what I inspired in him. Leia counseled me on the responsibility that comes from the power and vulnerability beauty gives a woman, especially Force sensitive women. We are capable of getting almost anything we want, she said — but there comes a point when we should know that we should not go after what we want, and there will be times when we will come up against something that we can’t break through with our cunning or our use of the Force — or our beauty. And then we must be wise — and ready to fight.

Is this girl that wall for me? She presses her lips together tightly as I regard her, her brow furrowing more deeply. Maybe someday, but not today. Today, though she is stronger in the Force than I am, I am the one who is more powerful. I hold the galaxy in my hand.

And the crystal.

I hold it up, showing it to her, tipping my head and smiling wide in a kind of taunt. I think of Ben, swinging his lightsaber as he paces the sparring room on the _Finalizer_. I think of my banner hanging there, the dragon with a pearl in its claw.

 _I am a dragon_ , I think to her. _I hold the treasures that you want_.

Her face registers her confusion. I close my hand around the crystal and pull myself from the vision.

I am once again in the storeroom, standing in front of my trunk. Millicent sits watching me from atop Hux’s, unconcerned. I drop the crystal, which is once again humbled, back into my jewelry box. I find the long silk dress I had been looking for, the only formal gown I brought with me from the _Finalizer_ — it is black, sleeveless and high-necked, embroidered from hem to knee with tall, oversized golden poppies — and bring it back to my cabin.

The vision has left me more weary than before, but it is time to put on my armor.

I arrange my hair — this time in braids piled high on my head. I eschew the black-lined eyes and blood red lips from my arrival on the _Finalizer_ and instead dust my cheekbones and eyelids with gold shimmer. My goal is not to intimidate but to dazzle. A gold snake bracelet winds around my left arm. A pair of black gloves reach my elbows.

I leave my cabin, just as I did months ago when we arrived on the _Finalizer_ , and find Hux in the corridor, just as before.

“We meet again, General,” I say to him.

He smirks and we walk together down the corridor, but he’s glancing at me all the way. Before I join Ben in the cockpit, he runs a single slender finger along the gold snake around my arm. He hasn’t yet put on his gloves, and he brushes my skin with his knuckles. I remember those months ago when his hand hovered above my bare ankle as he mustered the courage to touch me. Now there is no hesitation.

“Not your usual creature,” he says.

“What if I were to tell you this is a replica of an ancient bracelet that the namesake of our little ship might have worn?”

“Too convenient, Counselor.”

“True, though. It’s why I bought it, even though it cost me a week’s commission.”

What a strange thought it seems—those eight years of having to smile indulgently at rich women, having to come home with sore feet, having to save the credits I made to feed my admittedly expensive tastes. And now there’s the First Order, where I think of something and it appears before me, almost.

“The snake has more significance,” I continue. “You see, Cleopatra was rich, powerful — but still under the thumb of an empire, and she chafed at it. There was a war for dominance — which she lost. And rather than be paraded in her enemy’s triumph, she killed herself — with the bite of a snake, the stories say.”

Hux considers this for a moment. “Who was this enemy of hers?”

“Oh, a young man, the grandnephew of her former lover, Caesar — I’ll read you the eulogy from the play about the uncle; you’ll like it. He was stabbed to death in the Senate, for trying to consolidate too much power.”

Hux swallows hard. “Good gods, Miranda, why would you think I’d like _that?_ ”

“Anyway,” I say, “the nephew would go on to become Emperor, thanks, in part to the wealth and resources of the kingdom Cleopatra had ably managed.”

“And that is the woman you idolize.”

“Yes,” I say, simply.

“What romantic notions you have,” he says. “I’ll take a lesson from the story, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“I must never put you in such a position.”

“Oh, Armitage. Don’t be so earnest. It makes me blush.”

But I think of the words I said to Ben, as I fought with my disgust and anger. _I wish I were dead._ Somehow, in my illness, my dominance of the kyber crystal, my taunting of the girl, everything had changed. I decided that Ben Solo is mine — no matter what he did when he was Kylo Ren — and I would do what I had to to keep him. To keep my power over him. Over everything in this world that gives me anything I want.

“ _Don’t be so earnest_ , she says, while looking like the secrets of the galaxy have been revealed to her,” Hux says.

I return my attention to him. His lips are curled into a slight frown, his eyes a fraction harder than they were a moment before. He knows, somehow, that I was thinking of Ben. If our triumvirate is to last, I think, he must learn to check his jealousy.

“Mira,” Ben calls from the cockpit. “We’ll be making our approach.”

I take my leave of Hux with a quick, light kiss on his cheek, just because I’d rather he be happy. Once in the cockpit I peer out the window. The Planetary Senate complex is now in view below. It is a collection of buildings, shining white in the sun atop a hill above the planetary capital. Greenery and fountains surround them, with paths winding through the gardens. The buildings are graceful, curved, clustered around the palace proper, pillared and tall, with a transparisteel dome at its center. Even at this distance, I can see the statue that stands under the dome. I know it from holophotos — a forty-foot tall goddess holding a round shield.

I look over at Ben as I slide into the copilot seat and curse the console between us. I want to be in his arms, alone, not preparing to meet dignitaries who will no doubt take up hours of our time in talks. Then the staff will take over to install us in the Senate palace residence. Once there, however, perhaps there will be time. My skin tingles with the desire to be against him, and he turns his attention from the descent to the landing platform to give me a look of momentary abandon.

With a quickness that his large frame belies, he’s on his feet and leaning over the console. He pulls me closer with one hand and tilts his head to place his lips, hot and moist, on my neck, just behind my right ear. Every desire in my body rises with the contact, and I arch away from the leather copilot seat.

But just as quickly, he pulls away from me. I whimper at the loss of his breath against my skin, his firm grip against my ribs. He keeps his eyes on me, though, and bites his lip.

“I didn’t want to mess up your make-up,” he says.

I laugh, and then by instinct we both turn our attention back to flying. As we're making our approach,  I see four figures standing on the platform, awaiting us. I reduce our speed and lower the landing gear as Ben guided us in. In the corner of my eye, I see the TIEs that were flanking us break away. We set down without so much as a tremor. Ben Solo, good at everything he does.

I stand and smooth my dress and adjust my gloves. Once again we position ourselves to emerge from our gilded barge. This time Ben stands just a step in front of us, with me at his right hand and Hux on his left.

As we pause, I whisper to Hux, “‘ _I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones_.’”

He looks at me with the clear green of his eyes beginning to cloud, his expression struck, as I imagine mine was when he accused me of playing a role in the corridor of the _Finalizer_.

And then the ramp opens and we step down it, our footsteps in unison, our shoulders squared.

We emerge from the ship as silhouettes of black, and the eyes of the four dignitaries — representatives of each continental government — turn toward us. I know what they see.

They see the First Order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, poor Rey. What is she going to do now? Hmm...
> 
> Do you think Mira got through to Hux with that quote from Antony's eulogy for Caesar? Time will tell...
> 
> I envision the Gaian planetary capital as looking somewhat like the Getty Center in Los Angeles, but I'm not sure where it would be located. In Switzerland, perhaps?
> 
> I realize it’s not in the realm of SW canon possibility that there would be a planet in the galaxy that has the exact geography and history, and much of the culture of 21st century Earth, but, hey, this is my fantasyland playground.
> 
> Next chapter: Charming the ambassadors and performing for the vid drones.


	34. As Though Nothing Could Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Order Triumvirate meets the Gaian ambassadors. Optics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Heroes” by David Bowie

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

We meet them: Ambassador Tigue, a heavy brown-skinned man with bushy white sideburns and hair and clear gray eyes; Ambassador Parwin, a statuesque woman swathed in green silk, her hair hidden and her olive-skinned face serene; Ambassador Vo, a tiny man with a wizened face and the body of an old fighter, thin gray hair hanging to his shoulders; Ambassador Frenhull, gripping a white cane with ferocity, auburn hair streaked with white blowing freely as she stands on the platform. I see, too, hovering near them, vid drones. Some are from Gaian media, which, thanks to the video taken at the airfield being obligingly sent to them, have found out about our visit. I cleared their presence, but no members of the media will be in the Senate palace and we will review the video taken before returning it to the media outlets. There are also several First Order drones, sent down from the _Absolution_ , ready to capture our arrival for prop vids.  

I see the ambassadors study us as we descend the ramp. The Supreme Leader responds to their greetings with a slow nod, Hux with his customary military curtness. I hold out my hand to each of them, and at least _they_ know to greet me as Chief Counselor Galan, rather than as Lady Ren. Tigue takes my offered hand in his meaty grip, giving me a good-natured shake; Parwin’s grasp is languorous, aristocratic; Vo presses his left palm to his right fist and bows before taking my hand; Frenhull looks at my outstretched hand with open skepticism before touching her palm to mine and closing her fingers for a fraction of second.

Overhead, the TIEs circle, patrolling the air and ground. But we walk down the platform to the Senate palace safely. Arrayed outside the doors are the entirety of the staff who will be on hand during our stay — an arrangement Ben commanded, so that they would be both open to our mental perusal and vulnerable to the TIEs. We asked for a skeleton crew, and to the Senatorial dignitaries, this translated to a dozen people and three protocol droids, plus the security detail of about twenty, whom I spot patrolling the perimeter of the central Palace building. They sent us a dossier with their names and pictures, but I’ve only had time to take the most cursory look through it.

Hux steps forward now, to give a brief speech we prepared hurriedly as we flew to the capital, with much debate. But I won out in our negotiations about its content, and I stand with a pride in my accomplishment that would have shamed me just months ago.

“Thank you, Ambassadors,” Hux is saying. “The Supreme Leader, Chief Counselor, and I are grateful for your hospitality during our visit. I know our arrival was unexpected, so your alacrity in meeting our needs is to be commended. We have been surveying your world informally for the past week and have found it…” He glances at me. “Most enlightening. Indeed, the First Order’s future as a bright beacon of enlightenment depends as much upon the wisdom on worlds like Gaia as upon military might.”

The speech is more for the sake of the vid drones than the small staff gathered here, but they applaud enthusiastically — and sincerely, if with a bit of surprise. And no wonder. It’s a message such as Hux never given before.

We walk down the row as if doing a parade inspection. I sense their anxiety and an eagerness to be found satisfactory. A bit of starstruck nervousness. They’ve seen the three of us on the news by now, and Hux is a familiar face from his prop vids. And the Supreme Leader — ah, there’s the ripple of thrill through some of the younger people when they see him, his broad shoulders and long, muscled legs, his tousled dark hair and intense gaze, the scar that gives him the air of a dangerous wild animal. _Beautiful Ben_ , I think. _My_ _beautiful Ben._ I give a young man who is looking especially intently at the Supreme Leader’s loping form a little smirk and he blushes furiously.

I sense no hostility, and a quick exchange of glances with Ben confirms he doesn’t either. How strange. The Resistance would have it that the First Order is hated throughout the galaxy, especially since the destruction of the Hosnian system. But how easy it is for outrage to be redirected, to be forgotten. I think of what I said to Farah — a glamour, a spell to disguise reality with a beautiful illusion.

Ben, Hux, and I — we are the beautiful illusion. The embroidered silk drapery hiding the pitiless machine.

When we reach the end of the line, I step forward and greet each of them, going back down in the opposite direction. _Hello_ , I murmur, and _So good to meet you_ , and _Thank you, that’s so kind_ while the drones circle and hover nearby.

The ambassadors lead us inside and the drones follow — and there it is, the statue of a goddess representing Liberty. I’ve become accustomed to the vast spaces of the _Finalizer_ , but I am still awed — she rises forty feet from the floor, sculpted of a translucent gray stone that the light shines through, casting rainbows on the walls and floor. On her crested helmet is a crystal that ignites with light like fire, and her bronze shield is carved with scenes of triumph over tyranny. Most are from Gaia’s distant history, but one is of the destruction of the Death Star, the explosion ringing it like a halo. Liberty is swathed in a loose tunic, and her bare feet rest on broken instruments of war — everything from spears and arrows to blaster rifles. As I circle the statue, I see too, that there is a lightsaber, tucked away in the sculpture where not many would notice it, in a pile of blasters beneath her right heel. I recognize it as Darth Vader’s lightsaber.

When Ben and I were elevated to full Jedi, we were allowed to learn about the construction of a Sith lightsaber. Luke had the schematics for Vader’s — through what means, I don’t know. I remember studying them with a shudder, my bond with the kyber crystal in my own lightsaber so new and strong that thinking of the act of corrupting one sickened me.

Ben, who remembered this lesson all too well, and who knows what it is to corrupt the symbol of our power as Jedi, sees it too. He approaches the base of the statue, and reaches out with a gloved hand to touch the lightsaber. It’s nearly eight times bigger than it would have been in life, a reminder of how large Vader looms in Ben’s mind, the legacy he thinks he’ll never live up to.

I don’t understand it. Vader was Palpatine’s tool, even as Kylo Ren had been Snoke’s. Ben is free now of that now. He’s Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order. The most powerful man in the galaxy. But, still, facing a representation of his legendary grandfather’s lightsaber, he feels himself inadequate and small. I walk over to stand beside him.

“Ben,” I whisper. “The vid drones.”

One is pulling around the statue in an arc now, following us. He removes his hand and turns away from the statue. He holds his left arm out to me. I raise my right and rest my fingers lightly on his. The vid drones swarm as we walk away from Liberty in this pose, like a king and queen in a formal portrait from another age. I can’t help but turn to look at him beside me, his profile silhouetted with light, his black hair falling over his forehead and brushing his shoulders. He senses my gaze and returns it, with the beseeching look that is all his own, his red lips almost trembling, his eyes shining with longing in a way that could make me give him anything — anything he wanted.

This is the moment that the vid drones capture, and I know it is the image that will be dispersed all over the galaxy. Then everyone will know. He is mine. _He is mine_.

Forever.

* * *

The staff at the Senatorial palace has produced an impressive buffet of miniature food in a marble-floored reception room, cocktail party-style. Another party, as different from the last one we were at as the first two were from each other. The room is bathed in natural light from the windows set high on the walls. There is a huge rug, beautifully woven in a pattern of doves and olive branches, on the floor, and fine tapestries on the wall. I study them as I move around the room, each one depicting an animal with symbolic meaning — another dove, a peacock, a unicorn, a lion. And a dragon. This is not the serpentine dragon of my crest but a solid creature with great webbed wings like a bat’s, breathing fire. Only the First Order vid drones have been allowed in the reception room, and one hovers near me as I regard the mythical beast.

We make the circuit of the room, Hux and I eating tiny quiches with our gloved hands. The Supreme Leader, doesn’t deign to eat at all, until I nudge him and whisper that it’s not polite. He sighs as he picks up a vegetable skewered on a toothpick. There’s very good sparkling wine, cold and sweet and the color of the shimmer I painted my face with, which I drink gratefully.

Hux and I attempt small talk with the ambassadors, but they are still wary of us. But when I tell Ambassador Tigue he reminds me of the author Alexandre Dumas, he laughs with his hands clasped over his belly, evidently pleased. And when I compliment Ambassador Parwin’s headscarf, she proudly tells me about her continent’s silk artisans. Ambassador Vo has the manner I imagine Master Yoda did, as he watches the party while enthusiastically mowing through the buffet. I tell him as much, and he pats my hand like an indulgent grandfather. Ambassador Frenhull will not be charmed, however. She looks at me, the Supreme Leader, who has remained at my elbow, and Hux with icy blue eyes

“Don’t think you’ll get rid of us so easily,” Frenhull tells us with a stern frown as the three of us take our leave of the reception. “We want to know what the First Order’s intentions here on Gaia are. This sudden interest has our people rattled.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” Hux says. “We look forward to being candid with you.”

I can’t help but smile. With her red hair and the look she gives Hux, Frenhull could be his mother, giving him a dressing down for misbehavior. For his part, Hux looks a mixture of chagrined and defiant. But he manages to stay calm.

She replies with a skeptical sniff.

Ambassador Vo takes his leave by taking my hands in his and studying my face. His watery eyes are brown ringed with the grayish tint of old age, but they are keenly fixed on mine. My eyes might look so, fifty years from now.

“Ah,” he finally says. “I remember now. She gave a speech in the Senate. You look as she did that day.”

“Who, Ambassador Vo?” I ask.

“Far before your time, Counselor — during the Empire. Queen Breha Organa of Alderaan.”

With a start, I remember that I’ve heard this before, when I asked Leia about Queen Breha. “She had beautiful golden-brown skin,” she said. “Like yours. And black hair and brown eyes, shaped like yours. I was adopted, so I don’t have the Organa look. But who knows? Maybe you’re a long-lost cousin I didn’t know I had.”

I was 13, and terribly insecure about my skinny limbs and unruly black hair that seemed to tangle with the merest ruffle of wind. Other girls my age at the Temple were growing into their womanhood, but I remained with my child’s body and strangely incongruent features — a mixture of my beautiful mother’s and my unknown father’s. Being told I looked like a queen was enough to get me through puberty, almost. That, and having a princess to guide me.

Tears are pricking my eyes. I squeeze Vo’s hands. “You must tell me about her, Ambassador,” I say, too quietly for the vid drone to pick up. “It pained my mentor, Leia Organa, to talk too often about her mother.”

His eyes widen slightly, but then he nods with understanding. Next to me, Ben stiffens. Like most people in the galaxy, Ambassador Vo doesn’t know. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is just that. Ben Solo, grandson of Queen Breha Organa, is unknown to Vo.  

As the Ambassadors depart across the shining marble floor and the staff assigned to us appear as if conjured from a hidden door ahead of us, Hux comes and stands next to me.

“What a strange mixture of impulse and calculation you are, Miranda,” he says in a low voice. “I suppose you told Vo something sentimental about yourself to make that look come over him.”

“Just because it had the effect I wanted doesn’t mean it wasn’t sincere, General,” I whisper back as a drone circles, recording us.

“True in this as in other things,” Hux says, keeping his expression neutral.

“There are some things I don’t fake.”

He smirks at me. Ben sighs.

Two young blond men have been assigned to be Hux’s and Ben’s assistants — one of them is the one who was eyeing Ben earlier. His name is Sven, and he holds his composure admirably as the Supreme Leader looks him over.

“I will be needing your assistance only to show me from place to place, do you understand?” Ben says. “Otherwise, you are not to disturb me. And _no droids_.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” he says, his eyes not knowing where to settle, and finally finding a place somewhere near Ben’s chin.

Hux is already going over his requirements and schedule with the other young man, Hans. “Is there an exercise facility?” I hear him ask. “How about a pool?”

The young woman who has been assigned to me is brown-haired, a bit timid, but seemingly very competent. She reminds me somewhat of the girl in the vision I had on the _Cleopatra_ , and I remind myself not to treat her badly because of that. Her name, she tells me, is Sylvia.

“If you would come with me, Counselor, I’ll show you to your suite in the palace.”

I follow her, passing by Hux, who is saying to Hans, “...breakfast at 0700 precisely — Tarine tea, sugared; fried eggs over easy…”

“The suites for you, General Hux, and the Supreme Leader are in the same wing, ma’am,” Sylvia says. “The whole wing is protected with a security system that will prevent any entry by unauthorized individuals or tech, and he entire complex by a shield that extends from….”

I tune her out, not really deliberately, and watch Ben walk ahead of me. He points with two fingers at the drones circling overhead and makes a swiping motion. They drop and skitter on the floor before going still. Next to me, Sylvia gives a little involuntary cry.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says. “I’ve just never seen… anything like _that_.”

“Most haven’t,” I say. “But you’ll have to get used to it, with me and the Supreme Leader both. Though I don’t tend to send equipment crashing around.”

I smile at her, but she still looks slightly fearful. I make small talk with her on the way to our quarters to try to put her at ease, but I still sense that I’ll have to keep working on her to earn her trust.

The residential wing of the palace has a wide hallway, thickly carpeted in maroon and gold. The walls are papered with gold damask wallpaper and heavy chandeliers hang at regular intervals down its length. Two sets of double doors face each other on either side of the hallway — these are my and Hux’s quarters; a set of larger double doors stands at the end of the hallway — that is Ben’s.

“Do these rooms connect at all?” Ben asks Sven.

“Yes, Supreme Leader. At the moment the passageways from your suite to the two others are locked and secured, but your code cylinder will give you access to them.”

“And only I have access?”

“Yes, sir — both to the passageways and to your suite.”

“Thank you, Sven. I will contact you via commlink should I need you.”

Sven looks lost for a moment and then stammers out, “Yes, Supreme Leader,” and takes three steps backwards.

Ben turns and strides off to his quarters at the end of the hall, his cloak billowing slightly.

“Do you need help getting settled in?” Sylvia asks me, handing over my code cylinder.

“No, thank you,” I say.

“Shall I have breakfast sent to your room in the morning?”

“Yes, please.”

“You can put in the order to the kitchen from the control panel. One of our protocol droids will deliver it. Is that all right? They all have restraining bolts to ensure they pose no threat.”

“Yes, Sylvia, that’s fine.”

She nods, and goes to stand with Sven. Hans joins them shortly, and the three make small bows before leaving the wing. Hux and I stand outside our doors.

“I expect we will be in conference soon,” he says to me across the carpeted expanse.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ll see you then.”

He nods, I nod, and we go into our rooms and close the doors.

Inside, the suite has dark wood-paneled walls, patterned carpets in earthy colors on parquet floors, and solid, traditional furniture. The room I walk into is a sitting room, with two tufted Chesterfield sofas — much like the one in Hux’s quarters in the _Finalizer,_ though these are maroon rather than ice blue — and two armchairs. There’s a desk tucked into a corner, and the suite’s control panel atop it. The far wall is mostly transparisteel, with a sliding door that opens to a veranda. The view is of the capital city, tightly packed buildings stretching to the green sea beyond. To the right, a pair of doors open to a dining room with a small table and four chairs and a potted palm in the corner next to a sideboard. To the left, another set of doors open to the bedroom. I go in and explore — a large four-postered bed, with a puffy burgundy duvet, a bench at its foot, another windowed wall, but this one without a door to the veranda. I open a small door next to the bed and find a dressing room, where the clothes from my trunk have already been hung. I curse myself for not bringing more of my clothes from the _Finalizer_. I’m going to need a wardrobe if we’re going to stay here for any length of time. I run my eyes along the surface of the walls and find a nearly invisible seam on the one that adjoins Ben’s suite.

The suite’s bathroom has a bathtub almost as big as the one in my fresher on the _Finalizer_. I sigh in delight and start running the bath. The weariness of my illness is overtaking me once again, and after I soak for an hour or so, I wrap myself up in a plush bathrobe that hangs in the bathroom, and fall senselessly asleep on the soft bed.

My sleep is so deep that I don’t notice that Ben came into my room and carried me into his own until I am on his bed, returning his desperate kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mira has adapted very well to playing the role of a royal! Ben... has not. Strange, considering who is the child of a princess and who is the child of a sex worker. Of course, Mira is playing the dual role of Queen and Courtesan, and who knows what public sentiment is going to be about _that_.
> 
> I considered using a line from Morrissey’s “The Last of the Famous International Playboys” for this chapter — “the news world hands them stardom.” The full line is “In our lifetime, those who kill, the news world hands them stardom.” Ben and Hux are mass murderers (let’s not forget!), and yet their fame is enough to dazzle the staff at the Senate Palace. But — another line from the song: “I never wanted to kill, I am not naturally evil."
> 
> That exchange between Hux and Mira at the end there was kind of _awkward_ , no? What's up with that?
> 
> Next chapter: As if you don’t know. But also, Mira finds Millie somewhere the kitty should not be.


	35. I Give in to Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has carried Mira into his bedroom. Bedroom stuff commences! Then a conversation with Hux. Yes, a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra update! I’ve gotten far ahead of my writing schedule somehow, so I thought I’d serve up some smut for the weekend. 
> 
> The title of this chapter is from “Strangelove” by Depeche Mode

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

The bed is rumpled, the sheets and blankets in chaos, as if Ben tried to rest but tossed and turned until he stalked out of his room and into mine. He is shirtless already, and I dig my fingernails into his back until he responds by biting my lip. His hands fumble for the sash on the bathrobe, but he pauses when I whimper, high-pitched and hungry, into his mouth, mistaking my meaning.

“Are you all right?” he says, pulling away from me. “I’m not hurting you? I know you’re still —”

I wind my hands in his hair and pull him back to me, arching my body to capture his lips in mine and pressing myself onto his thigh to relieve some of my want for him. He pushes me back down with the heel of his palm on my shoulder and breaks his mouth from mine to leave a trail of bites and kisses down my neck. He pulls the robe open, and then frees it from from my body, tossing it aside, before holding me down with his hands on my upper arms as he takes my nipple between his teeth, tugging gently until I kick my legs out and yelp at him. He looks up, smirking slightly, and moves on to my other breast. I pull my arms free, untie the drawstring of the loose pajama pants he’s wearing, and push them off.

I work my legs around his hips and grip his sides and manage to wrestle him onto his back. I sit astride the taut muscles of his belly and press my ass back onto his cock, which pulses against me. He groans and catches me by the wrists, pulling me down so he can get his teeth into the tender flesh of my breast again. I dig my knees into his sides, flip my wrists from his grasp and grab his forearms, my fingernails working into his skin as I pull him up to sitting.

I have my legs locked around his waist, my hands clutching the muscles of his back. I bite him on the shoulder and his hips buck, his cock seeking me out. I slide myself higher on his torso, rocking him back into the bed’s tufted headboard.

“Mira, goddammit,” he whispers. He hasn’t been inside me since the night of my party, a week before.

“ _Not yet_ ,” I reply, even though my cunt is throbbing for him, willing me to press myself down on his cock hard, right down to the root in one stroke.

Instead, I reach behind myself and grasp his cock in my hand, squeezing the desperately hard girth, but just as he moans and thrusts into my fist, I let go. He looks at me with an expression familiar to me from when it’s my sparring saber that’s in my hand, just before he slides down, locks his arms around my thighs, and presses his mouth between my legs.

I feel him give a little laugh when I squeak as he slides his tongue down the length of my labia and finds where to concentrate his attention. I grip the top of the headboard and jut my hips forward. He’s keeping careful watch, I can tell, for the moment when I am on the verge of climax — and just as it begins to wash through me, he thrusts his fingers inside me so hard that I gasp loudly before a tremor runs through my whole body and I cry out. I lose my grip on the headboard and grab at him, feeling his hair in my fists, which sends me into a higher pitch, my hips pumping rhythmically with each wave of my orgasm.

I collapse on the bed next to him, panting, but before the pleasure even begin to subside, I am on my knees, crawling over to him. He’s lying on his back, and his cock arches toward his belly, hard and twitching. I get my lips just about halfway down its length when he pulls up to his elbows.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I slide him from my mouth and he shudders. “Returning the favor.” _You dummy._

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

And I do. I can’t help looking hungrily at the proof of my power over him, wanting to run my tongue down its veined length, to suck him root to tip until his body writhes and his heels dig into the bed and his hands clutch at my hair.

But I stop, though I can’t help but brush my fingers over his balls as I do, smiling as he moans.

“Why do you always stop me from doing this?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It seems… demeaning.”

“Is it demeaning when you do it for me?”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not. You’re the man who has fucked me senseless while you’re holding me belly-down on the mattress, and you think _this_ is demeaning?”

He frowns, slightly alarmed. “Did you… not want me to do that?”

I laugh. “Of course I _wanted_ you to do that. I wouldn’t have let you if I didn’t. And I want to do this for you.”

“Please,” he says, grabbing me around the waist and nuzzling his face into my neck. “I just would rather—”

“Well, luckily I’m amenable to ‘would rather’,” I say, thinking but not saying _One day you will let me swallow that impressive cock of yours whole, Ben Solo,_ but he blushes scarlet, hearing it anyway. “Sorry,” I say.

He shakes his head again, his flushed skin hot against mine. I grasp him in my hand once more and ease myself slowly down the shaft, grinding my pubis into his when he’s fully inside me.

He groans out, “Fuck. Fuck, it’s been too long.”

I take a slow stroke, keeping my knees tight against his hips. “Nearly a whole week,” I murmur. “How have we both survived it?”

He grits his teeth as I circle my hips. “Then you haven’t — you didn’t with —”

“ _What?_ ”

“I thought I felt….”

“No, Ben. Why are you thinking of that?”

He shakes his head and bites his lip as I begin rocking against him, building myself up to another orgasm.

But I know why. It’s because we were thinking about him, Hux and I, as we pressed our bodies together through our First Order dress uniforms, as I slid my hands over Hux’s satiny skin and teased his rosy nipple with my tongue. We thought about him — Hux of Kylo Ren and me of Ben — and he caught the sensation of our bodies, not fucking but wanting to, as he prepped the _Cleopatra_ for flight.

The specter of Hux doesn’t slow us at all, however — if anything, it fills me with the same possessive pride I felt as the young pages ogled the Supreme Leader’s powerful body and beautiful, scarred face. I thrust myself down harder onto Ben until I feel a faint stabbing in my side, relishing the dull ache of his length and girth inside me. I try to empty my mind of Hux as I come, but he’s there nevertheless, the idea of my power over him entwined with my arousal.

“ _Whore_ ,” Ben hisses at me, but he’s smiling a wicked smile, watching me intently as I move against him. He puts the heels of his palms against my hip bones and digs his fingers into my ass until I let out a keening moan.

I return the smile. “ _Fuck you, Ben Solo,”_ I manage to whimper, and he opens his mouth to reply, but can’t manage any words. I close my hands around his arms as he writhes into me, and then it’s there — the Force, the Dark all around us feeding on our pleasure.

“You’re mine,” I say to him, my voice steady.

“Yes,” he cries. “Yes yes _yes yes_.”

And he loses all words as he fills me, his cock pumping against the walls of my cunt as I tighten around him and his fingers leave their marks in my flesh.

* * *

I fall asleep again, in his bed this time, nestled against his chest, our legs entwined. But when I wake, in the dark, unfamiliar room, I am sprawled ungracefully across one side of the bed with one leg outside of the sheets and my face smashed deep into a pillow.

And there’s something butting my hand. I snatch it away, and from the gloom I hear a plaintive “Mewp?”

“Millie?” I whisper.

“Prrrpp,” she replies.

“How did you get in here, kitty?”

My eyes have begun to adjust to the dark, and I can just about make out her face, slow blinking at me before she yawns and plops down next to me.

I look over at Ben. He’s sleeping deeply, his eyes moving under his lids as he dreams. What of, I wonder. My own sleep had been empty — as if I had ceased to exist for a number of hours — and his dreams hadn’t intruded on it. But he must have gotten up and opened the door between his and Hux’s suites. And Millie, sneaky thing, got by him. I get up and search around the floor until I find my robe. Ben is _not_ fond of Millicent, so I decide to take her to my suite until I can return her to Hux in the morning.

And then I realize that Ben had gone through the door from his suite into mine and I don’t have my code cylinder to get back in via the hall door.

 _Stupid cylinders_ , I think. There are so many better ways to unlock doors. Retina or fingerprint scans, pheromone signatures, whatever. But these relics from the Empire persist.

Still, I don’t want to keep the cat in Ben’s suite, and I want to talk to Hux anyway, about the pharma communications. Now is a good time to do that, since Ben is about as asleep as I’ve ever seen him. So I get the robe around me and pick up Millie. Picking my way through the suite in the dark is easy enough, but there are more rooms than in mine, and I find myself in a bathroom when I expect to be in the sitting room. I right myself and find the correct door.

Millie starts to wiggle in my arms as I shuffle down the long hallway, but I hold onto her tightly and knock on the door of Hux’s suite. There’s a long pause. I knock again. The wooden door has a durasteel core, so I can’t hear anything from the inside. I knock once more, and this time the door opens after a short time. Hux stands in gray silk pajama pants and a First Order standard-issue white tank top. His hair is in disarray and he looks more than a little annoyed.

“Miranda? What in the — You naughty girl! What have you been getting up to?”

I feel the blush rising to my cheeks at the exact moment that I realize that he was addressing the last two sentences to Millie.

“I was going back to my room from Ben’s and found her lurking in the hall,” I say. “I didn’t want to risk her getting out when our breakfast arrives, and I didn’t want to scare you by keeping her in my room.”

I hand her over. Hux and I stand looking at each other for a moment.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m sure you’re tired, so —”

“Armitage, wait,” I say, just as I did those months ago, over the holocall. “Can I come in? Can we talk?”

He looks dubious. “About what?”

“I had some correspondence from Kirgalis Pharmaceutical, and I want to discuss it with you before I take it to Ben.”

He sighs and rubs his forehead, but then nods and steps aside to let me in. As he closes the door, though, he says, “Miranda, it’s 0200 — don’t you need your sleep? You look…” He smirks. “Well-used.”

“Dammit, Armitage, I’m serious.”

“Yes, all right. Come in, sit down. Shall I order us tea?”

“I’ll make it.”

Hux sets down Millie and calls the lights on, at 50%. That’s when I see the long, lethally sharp stiletto knife on the console table next to the door.

“Suns, Armitage! _Is that a dagger I see before me?_ ” I quote. “Were you considering murdering me?” I ask, picking it up.

He looks sheepish. “Well, a knock on the door in the middle of the night is startling after you've survived an assassination attempt. And this is a precaution I’ve taken ever since… well, since the _Supremacy_.”

“I see.” I examine it. “Monomolecular. Very fancy. Good for stabbing someone in the back or slitting a throat, but not terribly good in hand-to-hand. Too fragile.” I set it down again and go to make our tea.

There’s a mirror over the sideboard in the dining room, where the auto-brewer is, and I catch a look at myself. _Well-used_ is certainly the way to put it. My hair is a tousled mess, my lips are swollen and pink, and there’s a faint glow in my cheeks. My eyes look quite self-satisfied indeed. I have to laugh.

“I’ll be quick so you can go back to sleep,” I say as I bring in the tea. The palace residence has supplied us with dainty porcelain cups and saucers, quite different from the ceramic mugs Hux and I usually drink our tea from. “Do you have your datapad? I can log in to my correspondence.”

Hux is sitting on a Chesterfield identical to those in my suite except that his are gold instead of burgundy. Millie sprawls across his lap,  purring as he strokes her ginger fur. I sit next to him, tucking my bare feet under my robe.

“You see?” I say after I open the letter from Vane and show it to him. “I need to convince them to meet somewhere besides Byss. I don’t want the Supreme Leader to know about this proposal just yet.”

Hux gives me a steady look. “Is this like _other_ things you didn’t want the Supreme Leader to know about?”

“Dammit, no, Armitage.” I fold my hands on my lap. “Ben can’t go to Byss. It’s too dangerous.”

He sets down the datapad, and Millie uses the opportunity to stand and demand more attention, mewing softly and butting her head against his hand.

“The First Order has been supporting Kirgalis for their skin grafts and other medtech,” Hux says. “I don’t see why Byss is any more dangerous than other Outer Rim planets.”

“Outer Rim? Wait, no — there’s another planet called Byss? That’s stupid and confusing. This transmission came from the Deep Core world.”

Hux furrows his brow.

“Yes, _that_ Byss. The old Imperial capital.”

“Hm,” Hux muses. “I suppose that was calculated to create confusion in any hostile intelligence gatherers. If some Kirgalis researchers were relocated to the old Imperial capital, it could have been so they could work on special projects without the risk of espionage or infiltration.”

“And to rid researchers of any moral compunctions they might have, of course.”

“How is that?”

“Emperor Palpatine completely corrupted Byss with Dark Side energy. It’s so strong that it even influences people who aren’t Force sensitive. That’s why Ben can’t go there. He’s already compromised by the Dark Side —”

“Miranda, you know I don’t understand any of that.”

“Just trust me. He _can’t go there._ None of us can.”

I don’t say what I’m thinking. If Ben goes there, he could be well and truly lost. And not just him. A Kylo Ren who is completely consumed by the Dark Side would watch the galaxy burn and feel no remorse.

“All right, then. I don’t know anything about Vane or Kirgalis. The operations there must have been entirely overseen by Snoke.”

Hux and I share a beat of silence, filled somewhat by Mille’s purring.

_Snoke._

“I imagine I’m experiencing something like when you and Ren have those incomprehensible mind-reading moments,” Hux says.

“Something like that.”

“If it _is_ the mind-wipe drug that Vane is referring to here, that may explain how I came into possession of it.”

“Why would Snoke give it to you, though?”

Hux frowns. “It’s useless to speculate about anything having to do with Snoke.” He shakes off a shudder. “An elaborate plan to pit me against Ren, no doubt.”

I sense his weariness, and it bleeds into my own. I lean back on the sofa, trying to settle comfortably. My whole body is sore. I let my breath out. Hux presses his lips together grimly.

“We’ll work together to formulate our response to Vane. We need to get the full picture of what Kirgalis is doing on Byss,” he says. “I’ll be in correspondence with you, and we can meet again after Ren has retired for the night to make contact with them. There’s not much we can do now, so I suggest we retire ourselves.”

I nod and set down my teacup. As I stand, though — I remember. “Armitage,” I say. “I’ve locked myself out of my room.” I swear under my breath. “And out of Ben’s room.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure if you contact Sylvia, she’ll sort it out.”

“No! What will she think? I can’t have her seeing me like this!”

He laughs. “Suddenly Madame ‘Let Them See It’ is worried about her reputation being in shambles? I suppose there’s nothing for it. You’ll have to wake Ren and get him to let you back in his room. You’ll come up with a story, I’m confident.”

“You and your barbed remarks.”

“Who else will keep you in your place?”

“And what place is that?”

We’ve moved closer to each other as we speak. Unconsciously, I have raised myself onto my toes in my bare feet and turned my face up as if receive a kiss from him. I catch myself and lower both my feet and face.

“Damn you,” he says. “Go back to Ren.”

But he’s smiling a crooked smile as he says it. I return it.

“Thank you for listening to my concerns, General,” I say.

“Thank you for bringing them to me, Counselor.”

“Meet in my suite to prepare the day’s agenda at 9?”

He nods. “I will be there.”

We part, and I sense him watching me walk down the hall for a moment before I hear the click of his door closing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, look, Ben was a 31-year-old virgin. He's bound to still have some stuff he's hesitant about.
> 
> And the Scottish play! Domhnall Gleeson would make an unlikely but intriguing Macbeth, wouldn't he? 
> 
> I think at this point, things are going to be awkward between Mira and Hux if there _isn’t_ something clandestine happening between them. It’s kind of the basis of their relationship. And Ben seems to like it that way? Hunh.
> 
> And we've reached 100K words! How is that even possible, I ask you. I think this is going to run about 150K, and then there will still be room for sequels, should I want to revisit this whole ~thing~. But I have a "real" novel to work on, and writing these jerks has actually helped me break through a wall I had with that. (Which is one of the reasons I started writing this fic.) I was having trouble committing myself to writing about the redemption of a character who has done some pretty horrible things, and now that I've had some fun with Ben and Hux, I think I'm ready to tackle it.
> 
> Next chapter: Explaining to Ben where’s she’s been. And then a working breakfast, with drugs.


	36. One Microscopic Cog in His Catastrophic Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben (kinda) explains why he was sneaking around in Hux’s quarters. Mira and Hux have a (nearly) perfectly respectable working breakfast as they censor media coverage of their visit to the Gaian Senate. No, really. But then she learns something pretty disturbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the chapter is from “Red Right Hand” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
> 
> Thank you so, so much for all the comments lately, lovelies. It really is affirming to know that people are reading.

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

Ben, barefoot and bare-chested in his pajama pants, opens the door to me before I knock. His expression is fiery, but I walk into his suite as if visiting Hux in the middle of the night is perfectly normal.

“You didn’t notice that Millicent sneaked into your suite while you were spying on Hux,” I say. “I was returning her.”

He still glowers.

“And, yes, we sat and talked for a bit over tea because — well, why not? Hux and I —”

Ben grabs me by the waist, pulls me to him, and kisses me. I have to rise to the tips of my toes to meet his lips. My knees go wobbly, but he holds me up, against him.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he says when he releases me from the kiss but still holds me steady. “After everything I’ve done — all that you have to look past — you never need to justify yourself to me.”

“Then why do you look so angry?”

“You don’t need to care how I feel.”

I can’t sense whether he really means it. “I do,” I say. “Besides, it’s funny, but we really did just have some tea and talk.”

“Funny.”

“You know what I mean.”

He takes my hands in his. “Come back to bed,” he says.

“Ah, so you’re going to ask me this time?”

“I could carry you off again, if you prefer.”

“What if I said I _do_ prefer?” I am relishing the moment. This man is not the same shadow of Ben Solo who first brought me aboard the _Finalizer_.

He smiles and hauls me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing at all and gives me a pat on the ass. I shriek and laugh. He carries me like this through the rooms of his suite until we come to his bedroom. Then he sets me down gently on the bed and curls up beside me, tapping his forehead against mine. Again, like a big cat.

“Were you going to tell me what _you_ were doing in Hux’s room?” I ask.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” he says, settling the pillow under his head. “But if you want me to tell you…. I don’t know.”

I push a stray lock of his hair off his face. “You don’t know.”

“I was curious about what he’s like when he’s not… _being Hux_.”

“Why?”

He sighs. “Why do we feel anything we feel, Mira?”

“Yes, I know. Don’t question, just let yourself feel it.” I stretch, carefully — my body is still sore, my raw nerves sending shocks down my limbs if I move too quickly. “And how _did_ you find our sleeping ginger beauty?”

“He’s not _ours_. _Yours_ , perhaps.” He unties my robe and presses his lips to my bare belly.

“Mmm. Evasion,” I say, running my fingers through his hair, then pulling him back up to face me.

“I found him… startlingly human.”

“Aren’t we all.”

He takes my face in both his hands and kisses me, moving his body closer to me all the while. I pull away when he begins to nibble on my neck and I feel him harden against my hip.

“Now, Supreme Leader, what do you mean by this? We won’t get any sleep if we go down this path.”

“Who needs sleep?”

“I do. I have a meeting with Hux at nine, if you care to join us.”

“ _Hux again_ ,” he growls, and we both laugh.

I turn over onto my other side and he enfolds me in his arms. As I drift to sleep, I’m not sure he will follow me there.

* * *

I nudge Ben awake at eight to let me back into my suite. The passageway from his room is narrow, in the wall between his dressing room and mine. Ben’s shoulders nearly span it. He’s only half-awake and returns to his room after letting me into mine, closing the doors behind him. I order my breakfast, and by the time I bathe and dress, a protocol droid is at my door bearing a tray — a pot of tea, pastries, jam, cream — exactly what I wanted.

I’m still eating when Hux knocks at the door. He is in uniform and frowns when he sees me. I’ve put on one of my regular dresses from Gaia — a somewhat shapeless, floor-length black caftan thing — not any of my First Order clothes. My hair is bound up messily in a loose bun. The truth is, the lingering effects of my illness have flared since yesterday’s — and last night’s — activities, and I couldn’t bear the thought of putting on a uniform.

“I didn’t expect to find you _en dishabille_ ,” he says.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before. Sit down with me.”

I pat the sofa. He sits next to me and examines my breakfast tray judgmentally.

“You’re going to crash before 1200, eating like that,” he says.

“You’re in a mood,” I say.

“ _Someone_ interrupted my sleep,” he says, peevishly.

“Have some tea. Look at how thoughtful I am — I had them bring a second cup for you.”

He sighs at me, but still pours himself a cup. I pass him the sugar bowl. “Where’s Ren?” he asks.

I shrug. “I think he went back to bed.”

“How nice for him.”

I nudge my shoulder into Hux’s. “Come on, Armie. Cheer up.”

He looks at me in disbelief. “ _Don’t ever call me that again_.”

“Oh, Suns. I suppose it’s time for drastic measures.”

I ease myself up. I go to my dressing room and rummage in the hidden compartment in my trunk for cannabis, and then retrieve my hookah, which has been placed on the dressing table in the belief, I suppose, that it is some kind of cosmetics tool.

Hux sighs when I return with my accoutrements. “There’s work to do, Miranda.”

“Yes, and you’ll never get it done at this rate with this sulk you’re in. Anyway, I’ve decided I’ll talk to Madame Sten today, and I need to use my Force sensitivity to do it.”

“So? What does that have to do with your drugs?”

“Force adust.”

“ _What?_ ”

I set the hookah down on the coffee table next to my breakfast tray and pour water from the kettle into the lapis-lazuli colored vase. Hux watches as I set everything up.

“The illness I had — it was my Force receptors being overloaded and… burnt out. Adust. My nervous system has been trying to compensate, and it’s — well, it’s quite painful, actually. This will help.”

“I didn’t know.” He looks at me with concern. “Are you sure you should attempt the interview with Madame Sten?”

“We can’t put it off forever, and actively using my sensitivity, a little bit at a time, will help it heal. At least I _think_ it will. This isn’t a subject we covered extensively at the Temple, and the med sites on the HoloNet aren’t any help at all.”

I smile at him, trying to draw him out of his moodiness with my joke. He replies with a somewhat forced sniff of laughter.

I’ve got the coals lit in the hookah and I set a throw pillow from the sofa down on the floor to sit on.  I open my correspondence on my datapad as I take the first draw from the mouthpiece.

“I’ll write a draft for my reply to this Petrokis Vane and send it to you for feedback,” I tell Hux. “And then I’ll start on the questions for Madame Sten.”

Hux watches me typing diligently for a moment and then sighs.

“Hand that over here,” he says.

“You have to come down here,” I say.

He slides down next to me on the rug, just like during our afternoons on the _Finalizer_. As we smoke, Hux and I finalize our reply to Vane and resolve our disagreement about whether it should come from Hux or from me with the compromise that it should come from both of us but be sent from Hux’s correspondence. We move on to reviewing the video from the media drones, watching it on the huge holoscreen in my suite’s sitting room. By this point, Hux has taken off his boots and his tunic and sits cross-legged next to me on the floor with his shirt untucked.

“Surely not,” Hux says about the vid of Ben and me holding hands in front of Liberty. “You two look like besotted adolescents. We want to project strength.”

“You’ve _been_ projecting strength. The First Order needs to be humanized.”

“Perhaps something a little _less_ humanizing?”

“It stays,” I insist. “And anyway, I’ve decided — if the media wants Lady Ren, they can have Lady Ren. It fits with our prop objectives.”

I scroll through the vid and find the moment we stepped off the _Cleopatra_ , the awed expressions of the palace staff as we walk down their line, the three of us greeting the ambassadors, Hux giving his speech while Ben and I look on.

“Look at that,” I say as the moment when Hux and I were whispering innuendo to each other plays back. “We look pretty, don’t we? Let’s leave that in.”

“I agree that it _is_ a fetching picture,” Hux says, looking at our images. We’re standing close together, me looking sidelong at him in playful mock slyness, him with his head tipped down, his pink lips turning up in a smirking smile. “But altogether too cozy, Miranda.”

“And _that’s_ why we leave it in. We want people to think I like you, after all.”

He waves dismissively at me and tries to use the gesture to hide the quick motion of him saving the vid clip onto his datapad.

“We can balance these with more serious clips,” I say. “We don’t want to look like we’re fiddling while Rome burns.”

I delete the images of Ben regarding his grandfather’s lightsaber but keep portions where we are looking contemplatively at the weapons under Liberty’s feet. I get rid of Ambassador Frenhuld’s refusal to fully shake my hand — and her scolding. I return to when we first greeted the staff and find Ben, tall and strong and serious, with the strange beauty of his disparate features coming together in his unique face. I gaze for longer than I need to.

“So sorry, is this too tedious for you, Counselor?” Hux asks, seeing me linger here, a bit dazed, but he says it lightly, concern just under the sarcasm on the surface.

I pause the vid. “Reminder: _I am recovering from a mysterious Force illness_. Also, I’m pretty sure I got even less sleep than you did.”

He _hmphs_ in response. I feign — well, half-feign — exhaustion and collapse against his shoulder. He tries to scoot away from me, but I just make my body go limp and let my head fall into his lap. From there, I can see, under the coffee table, Ben’s boots as he comes in from my bedroom. He’s used the passageway between our suites.

Hux, who hasn’t noticed, is exasperatedly saying, “Miranda, _please_ , this is no way to work,” when Ben’s boots enter the room and then stop, hip width apart. I can imagine the expression on his face and hold in a laugh.

“What are you two doing?” Ben asks in his low voice.

Hux starts and practically _pushes_ me off his lap.

“Dammit, Ren!” he says. “You could warn one by rustling your cloak on the way in or something to that effect.”

I sit up, smiling. “So nice of you to join us, Supreme Leader. General Hux and I have had a productive morning. Armitage, stop blushing like that. It makes it look like something untoward was happening.”

“I —” Hux begins.

I turn back to Ben. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” he says.

He looks at my and Hux’s slightly disheveled states, then at the holoscreen, which now is showing his own image at the precise moment when Sven was gazing open-mouthed at him. I can feel his desire to sweep everything off the coffee table — the hookah, my breakfast tray, the dainty teacups, my datapad that the cups are set on top of — and send them crashing to the floor. And then I feel his realization that nothing at all had been going on between Hux and me, just more of my teasing. So he restrains himself and sits in one of the armchairs. I appreciate it.

“We have a lot to catch you up on, Mira,” Ben says, pretending to ignore me performatively adjusting my dress and hair back into decency. “First: the leaked vid from the banquet. It was Madame Ves. She secretly recorded the opening ceremony as a souvenir, but the tech she bribed to set it up sliced the vid and sold it to _Galaxy Insider_ for a considerable amount of credits.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “That hapless woman. Who was the tech?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’d been stagnating in a low-level position for some time. It’s taken care of.”

I stop smiling. “Taken care of?”

“If he wanted a new career, he has one now in the doonium mines in the Soccoran asteroid field.”

“Oh. What about Madame Ves?”

“I’ve left that to Hux, considering that she is the wife of one of our top generals.”

“Yes,” Hux says, summoning up Ves’ file from his datapad and putting it up on the holoscreen. With a tap on Ves’ latest orders, a murky pink planet appears on screen. “I’ve reassigned Ves to Wild Space, clearing the Hutts off Teth. That will humble them both for a time.”

“Very good, General,” Ben says impassively.

I sigh, relieved that at least no one is being executed. “And _Galaxy Insider_? Will anyone there face consequences for buying illicitly-obtained vid?”

“That, I leave to you,” Ben says.

I consider. “It would be better, I think, to keep them running what they _think_ are leaked vids,” I say. “It wouldn’t be hard to trade not prosecuting them for an agreement to only run approved content, but it would be better to hide any manipulation. I’ll speak to the prop office about it.

“What else is there?” I ask.

Ben looks over at Hux, who has resumed his place on the sofa.

“Yes, well. The stormtrooper LX-6492,” Hux says.

My mouth is suddenly dry. “Lussix? What about him?”

“He… managed to sharpen a stray piece of plastoid and use it to stab himself in the neck.”

The pleasant, fuzzy feeling from the cannabis drains from me — emptying my core, then spilling out of my limbs. My nerves begin to tingle, and I know it’s just a matter of time until they begin burning once more. I pick up my teacup with a shaky hand and take a sip, slowly.

“Is he —” I set the cup back down in the saucer, rattling it.

“He is alive,” Hux says. “He’s being held in custody in a medical bay, and the other troopers present at the banquet have been placed under observation.  Initial psych reports indicate LX-6492 is overcome with guilt but still insists he had no knowledge that he was going to make an attempt on my life beforehand.” Hux licks his lips. “He has asked to speak with you.”

“Well, then, I have to talk to him. That poor boy — this is what that loyalty that’s been programmed into him means. That he tried to harm you has _destroyed_ him. If only you could have seen his mind, Armitage. Such confusion and despair.”

“Counselor, I must remind you to please not infantilize my men.”

I glare at him. “When you stop stealing children and making them into your _men_ , I’ll stop thinking of them as such.” I stand now and sit in the armchair across from Ben. “When can I speak to him?”

“There’s more pressing business to finish first,” Ben says. “We need to speak to Madame Sten and her droid so that we have cause to detain Thanisson.”

“ _Cause?_ ” I say. “What is this, the New Republic? Just detain him!”

Ben lets out a muffled laugh.

“Thanisson is _my_ officer,” Hux says, shooting a look at the Supreme Leader. “And I will not have him detained without being able to tell him _why_. I also do not want the fallout from the gossip that his detention would inevitably lead to. I’ve put in orders to have the security vid from his contact with the droid pulled. Once I have it, I can confront him with it.”

I nod. I have to admit that Hux’s position is reasonable. “Then I need to get on with my questioning of Madame Sten. I’ve been working on my line of inquiry, but now — I think I’d rather just talk to her and see what happens.”

“Talk to her?” Hux says. “About what? This season’s hemlines? Gaberwool-synth blends? Oh, or perhaps new ways to incorporate your dragon onto your clothes while you eschew the First Order wheel?”

“Yes, _maybe_ ,” I say. “You don’t understand, Armitage. I can’t question Madame Sten as if she isn’t someone I’ve spent many hours with in private. I’ll be able to find out more if I simply speak to her. _Alone_. I’ll record our conversation, but it would be best if neither of you are in the room with me.”

“Very well,” Ben says. “The ambassadors have sent a proposed agenda for our official talks. General Hux and I will review it while you speak to Madame Sten.”

“There’s a comm system in the bedroom. I’ll speak to her from there.”

I take a final draw from the hookah to dull the shock of the news about Lussix and then put out the coals. As I move to stand up, Ben immediately is standing over me, his hand held out to help me. He puts his lips near my ear when I’m on my feet.

“I’m sorry for tiring you out last night,” he whispers.

I smile as the dumb butterflies in my stomach make loop-de-loops. “Some things are worth the consequences,” I whisper back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mira just loves to mess with both of them. In several senses.
> 
> I joked awhile ago that an element of this fic is "when English majors have to get real jobs." Doing PR, writing correspondence -- oh, I know it too well.
> 
> I think of Lussix as the flip-side of Finn. He didn't _want_ to be disloyal, but somehow he was forced into it. Instead finding a whole new world of ideals, he's left feeling like he has betrayed everything he's been raised and trained to believe in.
> 
> Next chapter: Mira talks to Madame Sten and OH HOLY SHIT


	37. Who Among Them Do They Think Could Bury You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira questions Madame Sten. A shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” by Bob Dylan

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

In the bedroom, I change out of my loose dress into a fitted one that Madame Sten made for me — pencil skirt, elbow-length sleeves, square neckline, the dragon that Hux sneered at me about on the left sleeve, in place of the First Order insignia. The dress is a bit loose; it seems I’ve lost weight since I left the _Finalizer_ , probably during my illness. I arrange my hair as best I can into a chignon and put on makeup, just a little — Madame Sten would often frown on my usual red-lipped, lined-eye First Order look as being overly dramatic.

As I have since I met her, I want to impress Madame Sten and meet her approval. And even if she is involved in a plot to kill the man I love, that desire still clings strangely to me.

I put in the call to Petra to connect me, and when her face appears on the holoscreen I want to clap my hands, I’m so happy to see her. For her part, she looks strained, a little weary, but she returns my smile.

“It’s good to see you, Counselor,” Petra says. “I hope all is well on Gaia?”

“It would be better if you called me by my name,” I say.

She ducks her head. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

There’s something different in her demeanor. An element of subservience that wasn’t there before; I sense that she is somewhat awed. It’s the prop vids, I realize. They’ve made my role, my position in the First Order, real. Before, the proof of my influence was only evident to the members of the _Finalizer_ ’s crew who may have happened to glimpse me by the side of General Hux or the Supreme Leader or to the small circle of officers whom Hux and I often dined with. To others, it was rumor, hearsay, gossip. And even Petra, though she saw me every day, thought that perhaps my favored position was temporary. But now I have transformed from someone who has found favor into someone from whom others must _seek_ favor.

“Oh, don’t _apologize!_ ” I say. “We’re all well here and making good progress in our investigation. The Gaian planetary government has been very accommodating. It’s nice to be on-planet and away from the Core. How is everything on the _Finalizer?_ ”

“Everybody is quite restless with the lockdown and the pause in missions, though we’ve tried to alleviate the boredom with in-quarters entertainment. In addition to the prop vids General Hux released, the troopers managed to see an episode of _Galaxy Insider_ , and now all the gossip is about you.”

“Oh, no — not the one with the vid from the banquet, I hope?”

“No, from when you, the Supreme Leader, and General Hux were at that airfield. There’s a moment — you and General Hux speak to each other, and everybody is trying to figure out what he says to you.”

I laugh. “ _Shiny twaddle_.”

Her forehead wrinkles slightly. “What?”

“That’s what he said to me. It’s a bit of a story to explain it. I’ll tell you about it another time.”

“Oh, and the media are all calling you —”

“ _Lady Ren_ , I know. I think it may be too late to do anything about that.”

“Yes, well — some have been speculating that they’re calling you that because you and the Supreme Leader will solemnize your relationship — if you haven’t already.”

“Solemn — you mean gotten _married?_ Oh, no. Nothing like that.”

“I’ll make sure those rumors are corrected,” she says.

“Thank you, Petra. I’m afraid dear Madame Sten will be disappointed that no nuptials are forthcoming. I think she’s probably already designed my wedding gown.” I remember why I’ve called as I’m saying it. “Speaking of Madame Sten, will you connect me to her?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” She pauses. “Do you have any orders for me, ma’am?”

“I don’t give orders, Petra. I’m not part of the military.”

“Instructions, then?”

I pause, considering. “If you can — the stormtrooper LX-6492?”

“Yes?”

“Could you find out what his favorite food is and arrange to have some given to him?”

She gives me a puzzled look. “But, Miranda, isn’t he the one who —”

“Yes,” I say, “but — well, I can’t say just yet. Please just try. I’ll understand if it’s not possible.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall I connect you to Madame Sten now?”

“Thank you, Petra. Yes.”

She nods, and her image disappears. I straighten my posture on the bench at the foot of the bed, folding my hands in my lap. In a moment, Madame Sten appears on the holoprojector. She is trying to look cheerful for me, but the lines between her eyes and on her forehead are deeper than I remember, and apprehension ripples off of her — but so does absolute conviction. It is different from the true belief I feel in Hux. Running through it is a ribbon of kindness, a maternal desire to protect. I smile at her.

“Madame Sten, how good to see your face again!” I say, and mean it.

“You look thin,” she says, instantly taking in my physical form as I did her emotional state. “You’ve been sick. The prop vids leave that out.”

“For obvious reasons,” I say. “Especially since it was just a little bug. I was sick for a few days, but I’m better now.”

She frowns. “You’re not better. I see the strain in your face.”

“I’ll never be able to hide anything from you,” I say. “I’m still recovering and I’m tired, but I’m not in any danger.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.” She takes in a breath. “Now… what about me? Am I in any danger?”

I’m silent for a moment.

“You said it yourself,” Madame Sten says in her lovely Naboo-inflected voice. “You can’t hide anything from me.”

I straighten up more, trying to put on an air of authority. “It depends on what you tell me, Madame Sten.”

“I’ll tell you this before you ask me anything, Counselor,” she says. “I always have and always will do whatever I must to protect Ben Solo and the the Naberrie-Organa family. And the Skywalker one.”

I start as she speaks his name with no hesitation, as I feel the love emanate from her like healing warmth. It is so strong that it soothes the pain in my nerves and washes through me in a way I’ve not felt since —

My mother.

For a moment I can’t speak. I study Madame Sten’s face, tracing her features. She reminds me of Leia.

 _She reminds me of Leia_. The warmth I feel — it is a mother’s love, like my mother’s, like Ben’s mother’s. And — perhaps — like _her_ mother’s.

I swear under my breath when I realize that I’m crying again.

“Madame Sten, I —”

I look toward the door of the bedroom. Ben is on the other side. Ben, who has never given any hint of suspecting —

“Does he… does the Supreme Leader know?”

“I told you once that the Supreme Leader knows everything he wishes to know. But there are some things he doesn’t think to even inquire about.”

“But — how did — should I —”

There are so many questions I want to ask — just like those Ben and I pondered in Bonny Doon while he lay with his head in my lap in my bed. Why did our elders abandon us? Why have we been fumbling our way through the Light Side and the Dark, the New Republic and Resistance and First Order while those who could have advised us offered us no guidance? Ben and I were wondering that about _ghosts_ — and here is a real, live woman who has hidden her identity rather than place herself between us and the dangers that we faced. I have disappeared, lied about who I am — but could I have done the same if I had a child? For the child’s sake, perhaps. I think of Leia. I think of Luke.

My mind is spinning, trying to catch hold of something, anything, to anchor it.

“ _Miranda_ ,” Madame Sten says, using my given name for the first time. “Ask me your questions, and I’ll answer them truthfully. Then you may tell Ben all that you think you should.”

 _Ben_. I lick my lips. I swallow. I inhale deeply. This is going to be the planned interrogation after all.

 _There is a light_ , I tell myself, _and it never goes out_.

“Madame Sten,” I say, not able to address her by her true name, “have you ever been in contact with Petty Officer Faraday Thanisson?”

“No, Counselor.” Her face remains perfectly composed, her expression open. I sense no deception.

“Have you ever been in contact with the stormtrooper LX-6497?”

“No, Counselor.”

“Have you received communication from or passed communication to Thanisson and LX-6497 through a third party?”

“Yes, Counselor. I received communication from Officer Thanisson and passed it to LX-6497 through the same third party.”

“And was that third party the protocol droid LZ-87?”

“Yes, Counselor.”

I take a deep breath again. “Madame Sten, are you aware of a plot against General Armitage Hux’s life?”

“Yes, Counselor.”

I don’t want to ask the next question, but I must. I rub my hands on the skirt of the dress that Madame Sten designed and made for me.

“And are you the originator of that plot, Madame Sten?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, I am.”

My lips instantly go numb and my vision swims. I knew it, as soon as I knew her true identity. She is a woman who knows how to shape events to her will. She has ruled. She has been a queen.

“Will you —” My voice cracks somewhat, so I begin again. “Will you tell me _why_ you plotted to have General Hux assassinated, Madame Sten?”

“Yes, Counselor. I did it to protect Ben Solo. You would have done the same. You were _prepared_ to do the same.”

I can’t deny it. I begin to speak, and then stop. My voice seems to be stoppered up, like that of the mermaid in the fairy tale.

She sees that I am at sea and continues. “Droids are quite useful when it comes to observing in places where people are secretive. People will talk around droids as if they’re not there at all. Ellzee was delivering a new dressing gown to General Hux when —”

I feel my cheeks tingle as I remember the black dressing gown Hux would pull around himself when we had food delivered to his quarters during our afternoons together. For all his mocking my interest in fashion, Hux’s robe, with its elaborately pleated raw silk, betrays his own preoccupation with his clothing.

“Counselor?”

Madame Sten has noticed I’m distracted.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m trying to be very First Order about this, but I’m finding it all a bit hard to take in.”

“You’re doing fine,” she reassures me.

I nod, weakly. “Now you were saying — Ellzee overheard something?”

“Yes, General Hux was giving orders to Officer Thanisson to look for someone whom the Supreme Leader trusts and to ascertain if that person’s loyalties possibly lay elsewhere — or could be made to lie elsewhere. Anyone overhearing it might have believed they were _protecting_ the Supreme Leader, but Ellzee found it suspicious.”

“And so Thanisson found _you_ ,” I say.

“Yes. Ellzee is quite clever — that same day, as she left, she apologized to the General for my not delivering the robe myself, since I was with the Supreme Leader to measure him for new clothes — thus leaving the hint on the the floor for Officer Thanisson to pick up.”

She smiles gently. This world of subtle political machinations are her element — and it was never that for Anakin Skywalker, or Ben Solo. I smile back, understanding. In this, we are the same. We are the same, too, in having our idealism destroyed while we were young women by the men we loved — grandfather and grandson. I wish I were with her so that I could embrace her, so I could take her hands in mine.

And it isn’t just her political wiles that protect Ben. I think of Ben’s tunics, with the strips of cortosis mesh sewn into their linings — Madame Sten’s design, he’s told me. I’ve never examined the suit he wore at the banquet, but I would be surprised if it weren’t similarly armored. She _loves_ Ben with every bit of herself, as I do. She will protect him every way she is capable of — as I will.

“So Ellzee was able to convince Thanisson that you would — that you would murder Ben.”

“Yes. With the deceit that her memory was selectively wiped after each interaction between them, it wasn’t very difficult to make him believe it. It is known that I am from Naboo, and I presented myself as one who would like to obliterate the Skywalker line for Anakin’s role in the death of — well, of Padmé Amidala Naberrie.”

The name hangs between us, as if a physical thing. I reach up to my cheeks and discover I haven’t stopped crying since I began.

“How did they think you would do it?” I ask, trying to compose myself.

“A poison pin.” She practically laughs as she says it. “Like something from a fairy tale.”

“But surely Thanisson would grow suspicious when it wasn’t carried out. How —” I stop. “The drug.”

“Yes. Once, the plot was finalized, Thanisson gave me a dose of it and took one himself.”

“What happened to your dose?”

“I destroyed it. And so the plot ended with me.”

“But the plot against Armitage _started_ with you,” I say, using Hux’s first name, in an uncalculated way this time. “Forgive me, but that is the crime that was carried further, so I need to press you about it.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says. “Of course you must. And, forgive _me_ , because I’ve seen how General Hux has made his way into your affections. Perhaps I was too rash and extreme in my method of dealing with him.”

 _My affections? Is that what they call it on Naboo?_ I think. But I say, “As you said, I was prepared to kill him myself, so you shouldn’t apologize either.”

“But you’re not prepared to do that now.” Her eyebrows raise inquisitively, but it’s not a question.

“No.”

“You see, that is what you must forgive me for, Miranda. I knew he was your friend, and yet I let the plot go forward. And part of that was _because_ you and he had grown so close.”

I lick my lips and wipe my eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“You see, if I am to protect my family line, that also means I must ensure that it is perpetuated.”

I take this in. “So those rumors —”

“Had me quite hopeful, I confess.”

“You wanted to make sure my _affections_ didn’t transfer to Armitage and endanger your plan.”

 _Cockblocked by the Queen of Naboo_ , my inappropriate brain says.

“And your plan was….” I am angry suddenly. “And here I told Hux that I wasn’t on the _Finalizer_ to be a broodmare. I suppose it was you who planted the idea for Ben to find me.”

“It was — but I couldn’t have done it if it weren’t something he wanted already. He spoke about you to me.”

And there are those butterflies, getting tangled up in the anger churning in my stomach.

“He always loved you, Mira. He didn’t tell me in those words, but I could feel it. No, I don’t sense other people’s emotions the way you and he do,” she adds, seeing my expression. “I feel them in a way anyone who has ever been in love can feel. You understand, though, that wasn’t the only reason — General Hux also had put an assassination plot into motion and was capable of doing it again.”

“And now?”

“And now I don’t think he is. I’ve seen the vids, just like everyone else — and a couple of others, besides. You three are quite the gossip item. But what strikes me is the way you always stand between them — metaphorically or physically. General Hux will not harm the Supreme Leader, I’m confident. He’s held back by the prospect of hurting you.”

“And you can see that from a few edited vids?”

“I have a lifetime of experience that makes me able to see it.”

I nod and am quiet for a few moments. I let my eyes rove over the room as I blink tears away. It’s almost as if my surroundings had stopped existing while I spoke to her. Through the window, the sky is gorgeously blue and studded with fluffy clouds, though I see, far-off and hazy, the angular shape of the _Absolution_. There’s a question to be answered about that ship, too. But one mystery at a time. I let my eyes stray away from the ship and to the glint of the ocean beyond the city. Suddenly, I want to be outdoors again, on the beach in Bonny Doon, sitting on the sand under the sun, listening to the ocean, smoking a joint with Hux, and teasing Ben while he draws.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” she says, “Not being able to have an ordinary life. I remember those sweet moments when we had a glimpse of what it would be like.”

I’m startled. She is not Force-sensitive, yet she has such clear insight to what is on my mind. But, then, she knows. She has been through this herself.

“I got to see what it would be like, but I know that it wouldn’t work,” I say, returning my attention to her holo image. Her face is so kind. “The Force has other plans for us.”

“Indeed,” she says. “And whether those plans are the same as those of a fond old woman, you must follow where it leads you.”

“I’m afraid I have to follow where the line of questioning leads me now,” I say.

She nods. “Of course.”

I direct my gaze to my hands on my lap for a moment and then back up at the holo screen. “You chose the stormtroopers to carry out the plan after they were selected to be part of my honor guard, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“How were you able to implant the hum of my lightsaber’s kyber crystal as a trigger for them?”

She shakes her head. “Is that how Ellzee managed it? I left it to her, so I don’t know her methods. The lightsaber makes sense. She was there when Ben told me he was going to give it back to you.”

“He told… you?”

“He was so excited — well, nervous actually. I was sure he was going to tell me he planned on proposing to you.”

I smile. “A disappointment, I suppose.”

But, perhaps — was a proposal what it was, after all? I picture Ben, holding out the lacquer box, the way our eyes met, and how everything seemed to slow and fade, until, there was only us, breathing together as if we were one being. I should have known then that he is _mine_ — not just for now, not just while my body warms his. I see it now.

I breathe in deeply and recenter myself in the investigation. “I’ll have to speak to Ellzee about the trigger,” I say.

“She’ll corroborate everything I’ve said — and if she has a restraining bolt installed, you’ll know she’s telling the truth.”

I nod. Hopefully, we’ll get information that will help us decide how to deal with the troopers.

“Did you hear about LX-6497?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, sinking as she sits. “I will have to live knowing I am the cause of his despair. I fooled myself into believing he and the others would welcome it — after all, General Hux is responsible for their abduction and mind control. I thank the stars he survived.” She pauses. “I know you understand — that everything I have done out of love for my grandson. Will you please tell me for him?”

“Don’t _you_ want to tell him? In person?”

Tears rise to her eyes now. “Now that I’ve confessed, I’m not sure I’ll get the chance to.”

I stiffen in horror. “No, he wouldn’t allow that. And no one will know you’ve confessed unless I tell them. You can tell him now — over holocall isn’t the same as in person, but it’s better than waiting.”

“Is he there with you?”

“Only in the next room. I’ll get him.” I start to rise.

“Thank you, Miranda,” she says.

“No, thank you, Madame —” I break off. “What shall I call you now… now that I know?”

Her brown eyes — so like Ben’s, I see now — still shine with tears. “I hoped that, perhaps not now, but someday — you might call me _Grandmother_.”

 _Grandmother_. A name I had never expected to call anybody. My mother didn’t know what became of her own mother after they were separated by the slavers. Grandmothers mean family, continuity. And so few people I know have that. I can’t stop myself; I weep openly now, pressing my palms to my face, and then folding onto myself until the backs of my hands meet my knees. The fabric of my dress can’t muffle the animal-like wail rising from my throat, and before even my first sob can settle into the next, the bedroom door is thrown open with the Force. A second later, Ben rushes in, his face wild with alarm as he crosses the room to me. He is kneeling on the floor in front of me in an instant, his hands on my shoulders to raise me up so he can see my face.

“Mira, what is it?” His lips tremble.

I try to speak, but I am crying too hard. I shake my head, and press my hands to my heart, trying to tell him that I am weeping not out of pain or distress but out of joy. But the sight of my tears blinds him to my feelings, and he turns in anger to the holo image of the woman who, unknown to him, is his grandmother.

“ _What did you do,_ ” he says, through clenched teeth.

She draws back from his image, fear in her eyes, and I understand why. In that moment, Ben is the image of Anakin Skywalker, the last time she saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AGONIZED about this twist, going back and forth between “no, that’s cheesy and overly dramatic and it strays too far from canon” and “YOU WILL DO THIS.” YOU WILL DO THIS won out.
> 
> If you want to read about how the Bob Dylan song "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" informed my creation of Mira, you can check out this post on my Tumblr: https://the-call-from-the-light.tumblr.com/post/175733525406/putting-the-damage-on-chapter-2-notes (Sorry, can't do hyperlinks in the notes!)
> 
> Mira is a true Pinay, always making sure people are fed. I always say that if there had been a Filipina auntie in the kitchen at the Temple who to stuff Ben full of lumpia and pancit and ube buns, he wouldn't have turned.
> 
> Next chapter: How exactly is Ben going to deal with this?


	38. You Can Turn Me Into the Real Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben learns Madame Sten’s true identity, and he and Mira must ponder what it means for their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Jackie’s Strength” by Tori Amos

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

I reach out and put my hand on his cheek.

“Ben, no,” I manage to say. My sobs are settling as I make myself breathe slowly and deeply.

He turns back to me, and the wildness in his eyes has calmed, but I still feel his anxiousness coursing through him.

 _He’s afraid for me_ , I think. _He wants to protect_ _me_.

“Ben, listen.” I put my other hand on his face, cradling it as I lock my eyes on his. Through the Force, I say the words to him: _There is a light, and it never goes out_.

He breathes in deeply, and then nods. He stands and paces as he clenches and unclenches his hands.

“I apologize, Madame Sten,” he says as he sits down. “I regret you seeing me like that.”

I have never seen them speak to each other. As I see him now, perched on the tufted bench beside me, his hands on his knees, his head bowed slightly in contrition like an admonished little boy, I wonder — how could he have not known?

“Oh, dear boy, you were worried about Miranda. I’ve seen it a million times before — a man overcome because the woman he loves is in distress.”

 _The woman he loves_. And _dear boy!_

I close the bedroom door with a gesture and then turn toward him, putting my knees on the bench. “Ben,” I whisper. “There’s something Madame Sten and I need to tell you.”

He looks at me, with his entreating eyes, biting his full lower lip.

“What is it,” he says, his voice low and even.

“Look at her, please,” I say. “Reach out. Look at her eyes — and then tell me if you recognize them.”

We share a thought: _I sound like Luke._

 _The student becomes the master_ , I think to him, and smile. I take his hands in mine.

“Tell me if you understand,” I say.

He lets go of my hands and turns to the holo image and meets his grandmother’s eyes. For some seconds he is still, leaning with elbows on his knees, silent, his gaze unblinking as she looks back at him. And then he sucks in a breath sharply and sits up. Tears well in his eyes. I move to retake his hands, but, abruptly, he stands.

“No,” he says. “No. This —”

He begins to pace and then stops, turning back to look at his grandmother’s image.

“How?” he says. “How could I not have —”

He is all broken thoughts and — I sense it with a metallic tang in the back of my throat — _panic_.

“Ben,” I say.

I rise, too, going to him with my hands outstretched. But he looks at me as if he doesn’t comprehend exactly what I am. Through this, his grandmother has remained silent, but I see now that there are tears on her cheeks.

 _She was married to a Jedi_ , I say. _She knows how to close her thoughts._

He walks toward me, as if to take my proffered hands, but then he raises his own hands to his face and clutches at his scalp. His jaw is clenched tight and he lets out a low groan between his teeth. I reach out and touch my fingertips to his cheek. He drops his hands, capturing mine as he does so, and opens his eyes. He touches his lips to my fingertips, and then lowers my hand.

“I just — I just can’t right now, Mira,” he whispers. “Please tell her.”

He strides into my dressing room. I hear the sound of the door to the passageway open, then close. I turn back to the holoscreen.

“Poor boy,” says Padmé — I can begin to wrap my mind around who she really is now. “It’s too much for him. Give him a moment, and then go to him.”

I sit back down on the bench. My nerves are beginning to tingle again, a precursor to pain. I rub my arms, trying to keep it at bay.

“I have to ask,” I say. “Does anyone else know? About your identity? About you being with the First Order?”

“No,” she says.

“Not even —”

“No, not even Leia.” She raises a slender hand, to stop me speaking before I start. “Believe me, I know how it appears. There is a story behind why I stayed hidden for so long, why I haven’t revealed myself to my own daughter…” Her voice catches. “...And my own son. There are layers of decisions that I made, thinking they were the right ones at the time — and other people’s actions, which I couldn’t control. But it’s long.” She sighs.

I bite my bottom lip. “I understand.”

“Child, I can see you’re growing weary. Don’t let the First Order take your health.”

I nod, but inside part of me is saying, _And we both know what you want my health for_.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m very tired. I will probably have to speak to you again, though, Madame St — Madame Amidala?”

She smiles. “I told you, call me Grandmother.”

 _It’s as if she’s married me off to Ben already_. I decide to indulge her, though. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

The word feels foreign coming off my tongue, but also warm and sweet, like belonging.

When the transmission has ended, I stand, shakily. I cast my feelings out to Ben, but I feel his need for solitude, for just a little longer — and then I feel the pain beginning to shoot up and my limbs. I shake out my hands and slowly take off the sheath dress and put on my loose caftan before going back into the suite’s sitting room. Hux stands when he sees me, then rushes over to me.

“Good gods, you’ve gone pale,” he says. “What happened?”

He guides me to the sofa and helps me sit down.

“She has very strong Force resistance for someone who isn’t Force-sensitive,” I say, not untruthfully.

He sits down next to me and holds his hands around my shoulders. “I was worried it would be too much for you.”

“I know you were, Armitage. Thank you. I’ll be all right, though.”

I reach for the hookah and start relighting the coals. Hux clears his throat.

“Miranda, far be it from me to tell you how to… ah, medicate, but are you sure that’s wise? We have a meeting with the Ambassadors this evening over dinner.”

“I’ll be fine by then if I don’t tax my sensitivity. I just need rest.”

“You look more than just tired, though,” he says. “You look… _haunted_.”

I slide off the sofa onto the cushion on the floor. “The past will do that to you,” I say.

He sighs. “There is so much I don’t understand about what happens in your mind.”

I take a draw from the hookah, not bothering to let the bowl heat. “I thought you said mystery was alluring in a woman,” I say, unsuccessfully trying to exhale and speak at the same time.

Hux pats my back as I struggle through a coughing fit. “Mmm, I suppose it’s more alluring than watching your lady love choke on cannabis smoke.”

I cough even harder. “ _Lady love?_ ” I gasp once I’ve gotten my breath back, struggling to laugh. I lean my head on his knee. “Armitage, don’t ever change.”

He begins to loosen my hair from the pins I jammed in it when I was trying to make myself presentable..

“Ah,” he says, sliding his fingers through the the long black strands, “but I already have.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

I nod. I take a few more draws from the hookah and then sit back on the sofa with him. I lie down with my head on the arm and my feet in his lap and press the heels of my palms on my eyes. I reach out for Ben again and feel his need for me. I sit up.

“Don’t,” Hux says, putting his hand on my ankle.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t hop to every time he wants you to. He expects too much from you.”

I sigh. “Perhaps. And perhaps I expect too much of _you_ ,” I say. “People like me and Ben, we can make other people subsume their lives in ours.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Every time I need you, Armitage — you’re there. If I need someone to talk to, someone to calm me down after some intense scene with Ben, someone to… well, you get the picture. But it’s the Force. It can exert influence — because it’s actively intervening for us or just because our use of it awes people. It’s part of me, and yet it’s not, so I distrust how people react to me.”

“You think — that when I confessed that I love you — you think that was the Force?”

“Maybe? But it was my lies, too.”

He presses his lips together, considering, then shakes his head. “No, that’s not all there is to it. And so what if it was? What one feels depends on so many factors and influences, and even if one could sort them out, it wouldn’t change the resulting emotion.”

I don’t tell him how Ben says much the same thing, though with fewer words.

“I’ll take what you said into consideration,” I say, swinging my legs around, “but he really does need me now.”

He rises to help me up. I slide my slippers from underneath the coffee table, make sure I have my code cylinder, and go out into the hallway. I’m halfway down it when the door that leads from the Senatorial Palace opens, and Sylvia, Hans, Sven, and the protocol droid who brought me my breakfast, walk in. Sylvia walks to me, unable to hide the curious look she gives to my casual attire quickly enough.

“Counselor — we have briefing notes for you before the meeting with the ambassadors.”

“I was just going to speak to the Supreme Leader,” I say. “You can confer with General Hux until we join you, if you’d like.”

She nods, and the group turns toward the doors to Hux’s suite.

“Oh, no,” I say. “He’s in my room.”

 _Oh blast_. I feel the ripple run through them, the emotional equivalent of raised eyebrows, just like when I announced that Hux and I were “dedicated colleagues” at the banquet.

“In the _sitting room_ ,” I say. “We were working on editing the media videos.”

They nod and turn to my door, and I continue down the hall without looking back at them. Ben’s door opens to me the moment I reach it and I step through. I go straight through all the rooms to the bedroom, and there I find him, sitting on the edge of the bed. He raises his head and looks at me.

“How is this possible, Mira?” he asks, his voice plaintive, hurt — not at all angry.

I sit down next to him.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. However possible, it _is_. You felt it, right? She’s not an imposter.”

“No, she’s not.” He rubs his forehead. “Where has she _been?_ ”

“She says it’s a long story.”

He sighs and pushes out his lower lip. “Isn’t it always. If she had been there — she could have told them, told _me_ — maybe she would have understood.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Who knows what’s out there in the _could have been_.”

“Everything could be different,” he says. “Mira, I don’t know what I’m feeling.” His eyes are large, the darkness of them deep. “Tell me what I’m feeling.”

I take his hands and study his face, as he did with mine, the day after that first time with Hux.

“Sorrow,” I say. “Confusion. Self-reproach.” His left eye twitches. “You’re feeling regret.”

“No,” he says. His hands tighten on mine and he looks away, into the dimness of the room. “I’m beyond regret. There should only be _resolve_.”

I squeeze his hands back and lean toward.

“Ben,” I say.

He doesn’t look back at me.

“Ben Solo,” I say.

And now he does, his expression on the verge of anger.

“You’re thinking of what _Kylo Ren_ should feel. What Snoke told you that you should feel. Don’t you see that?”

He lets go of my hands and stands. “I’m the _Supreme Leader_. Any mistake I make is going to be like a stone thrown into a lake — the repercussions rippling through the whole galaxy.”

“That’s why you have me. And now you have your grandmother, too. Let us advise you. Even Hux —”

He scoffs. “ _Hux_. Hux is your plaything, Mira.”

I find myself strangely defensive. “Hux is a _person_ ,” I say. “And, I remind you, a general. He needs to be checked, but he understands more about military strategy than we do. I mean, what are we? An artist and a writer with theoretical training in strategy, trying to command a galaxy. We need to use the skills of the people around us.”

He sits again and rubs his hands on his knees. This rapid flux of contemplative stillness and the restlessness of nervous energy has always been the signature of his presence in the Force. The dark depths and the spikes of red.

 _Our natures are beyond our control_ , I think.

He looks up. “Do you know what you look like?” he asks. “In the Force, I mean. To me.”

“What?”

He closes his eyes. “You’re a dark field, like space between the stars — and then there’s a light, all green and gold — like a nebula — exploding through it.”

He opens his eyes again, and I kiss him, moving closer so that I my knees straddle one of his thighs. I hold his face in my hands, feeling the scar running on its right side with my thumb, brushing away a tear that has fallen onto his left cheek with the other. When we break away, I stare into his eyes for a moment, then he puts his arms around my waist and holds me closer. His warm breath is against my throat and I cradle his head against me.

“Do you remember,” I say, and I feel none of the old resistance against the phrase, “when we used to watch the stars?”

“I can remember every time we did.”

“And do you remember how that felt? Small, yet large at the same time?”

“Yes,”

“That wasn’t being a Jedi or being Force-sensitive. That was being human,” I say. “You are human, you are fallible. You can feel regret. You’re Ben. _My_ Ben.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m off on vacation, so there will be no updates next week, but I’ll post three chapters again the week after that.
> 
> Next chapter: Dinner with the diplomats. And Mira tries to convince Ben he doesn’t really hate Hux.


	39. You’re a Read Good Chorus, I’m a Real Good Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the ambassadors turns into something of a... fiasco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it? Because the chapter title is from "Out of My Head" by Lupe Fiasco.

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

We sit at a round table to dine with the ambassadors. I sit on Ben’s left, Hux on his right. The ambassadors face us from the other side of the table, as if there is an invisible barrier bisecting it. I suppose they thought they were making a statement with the round table, but it’s not the most diplomatic of seating arrangements. Or perhaps they’re making it clear that this is a negotiation, not a social meal.

Ambassador Frenhull, in a gown that is, disconcertingly, the same ice blue as the sofa in Hux’s quarters on the _Finalizer_ , does not allow time for genial talk. She’s demanding answers of us even before the soup arrives.

“What are the First Order’s intentions in occupying Gaia?”

I can see Ben’s jaw work, the purse of his lips as he keeps himself from speaking his first thought.

“We are not _occupying_ Gaia, Ambassador Frenhull,” he finally says. “There are no forces on the surface. General Hux, Chief Counselor Galan, and I are here on an informal diplomatic tour.”

“But already you have tampered with the free function of our media,” Ambassador Parwin says. She wears purple today, the gold-edged scarf gracefully draped across her shoulders. “The videos you returned to the outlets were much redacted.”

“Those were the agreed-upon terms of their being allowed to record our meeting,” I say. “I know that the media isn’t granted full access to every Gaian Senatorial function. Forgive me, but why should it be different for the First Order?”

Ambassador Tigue leans back in his chair, shifting his gaze contemplatively to the ceiling as he speaks. “Counselor, I’m sure you are attuned to the optics of the situation, so perhaps you would agree that for the sake of the First Order’s image, you be as open as possible about your plans while you’re here.”

Before I can answer, Frenhull cuts in. “ _Optics!_ ” she shouts. “Ambassador Tigue, we are discussing a threat to Gaia’s autonomy, and you talk about _optics_?”

The soup arrives before anyone can answer. Across from me, Hux takes a spoonful. His nostrils flare and he looks at the bowl as if it has stabbed him in the back. I repress a giggle as I realize why when I take a sip myself. It’s ice cold. I guess gazpacho isn’t popular on Arkanis. He sets his spoon down, his lip beginning to curl, ready to redirect his annoyance at Frenhull. I shuffle my foot around under the table to try to find his and step on it, but Ben’s big boots are in the way.

“May I remind you,” Hux says through a sneer that he is, to his credit, trying to suppress, “that Gaia is _not_ autonomous. Gaia’s planetary government has aligned itself with the First Order, and the First Order is not a neglectful caretaker of its systems, as the New Republic was. As for our _intentions_ , we are assessing both the needs and capabilities of the systems under our authority in order to more effectively distribute resources.”

This was our practiced stance, which Hux and I argued about intensely after our trio of aides left us with the notes for our meeting. He insisted that my views on Gaian independence continued to be Populist propaganda, and after he pulled up photos on his datapad showing famine and local conflict and natural disasters that devastated populations on other worlds that didn’t have Gaia’s riches, I had to agree that he had a point. If the First Order could help poorer systems and the people who lived in them by more tightly regulating what occurred on wealthy ones, it could alleviate suffering.

It was my turn for my face to express astonishment then. How had his fear of chaos, his exploitation of worlds and human lives as commodities turned to this? I worry that this is what he thinks he’s been doing all along. But by the time we were done arguing, I didn’t have time to question him further.

Still, I watch him as he explains this to the Ambassadors, his pale cheeks tinged with pink and his green eyes alight with the gleam of enthusiasm and earnestness that makes me see the boy he used to be. I think of Padmé’s words: He has made his way into my affections.

Ben nudges me with his foot under the table and I return my attention to the conversation.

“The General is right,” Ambassador Vo is saying to an increasingly agitated Frenhull. “Gaia is fortunate in our climate and our natural resources — our lives are comparatively easy, which means our people have the privilege of time to pursue scientific discovery, technical innovation, and art. Why should we not share this privilege and fortune?”

“I think what worries us,” Parwin puts in, “is that the _way_ in which we share our resources will be decided by the First Order, and perhaps not in our best interest.”

“I think we can agree,” I say, as if I’ve been paying attention the whole time, “that there will have to be terms negotiated between the First Order and its client governments.”

Ambassador Tigue lets out a hearty laugh. “Is this your way, Counselor, of telling us this is not the time to resolve our differences but —” He gestures to a row of servers who have just entered the dining room bearing silver platters — “rather to enjoy some of that bounty Gaia is so fortunate and privileged, as my colleague Ambassador Vo puts it, to enjoy?”

I should feel patronized, but I _am_ ravenous, so I smile. “Indeed,” I say.

“How long do you intend to stay?” Frenhull asks as she serves herself vegetables from an offered platter.

I take a sip of my wine. “Our intentions are very much on your mind, it seems,” I say to her. “I assure you, they are entirely honorable. Your planet’s reputation will remain unsullied.”

Nobody understands my stupid joke. Except Ben. He shakes his head at me in mock reproach, his expression unchanging. Hux looks somewhat chagrined, for some reason.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” Ben says. “There is some business we have to take care of.”

With no more explanation apparently forthcoming from the Supreme Leader, the talk turns to slightly awkward conversation. Frenhull, oddly lacking in small talk for a diplomat,  speaks to me about slavery and the sex work industry as if I know nothing about it. She withdraws, chastened, when I tell her my mother was both a slave and a sex worker.

“And this relates to the media,” I say pointedly in Parwin’s direction. “I’ve made no attempts to suppress its reporting on my mother or how I grew up. _Galaxy Insider_ ran a story on it last night.”

To change the subject, Vo asks me about the dragon that he spotted on my banner in the prop vid. Parwin turns this into noting my interest in the tapestries yesterday and making a comment about how the legendary creatures appeal to “fuzzy-minded pseudo-intellectuals who read too much fiction.” Hux stifles a laugh and Ben sits silently smirking when I launch with a cold fury into a reminder of which of Parwin and myself is the one who reads fiction and which is the one who disparages those who do — and which of us holds the most power in the galaxy.

I hate that a woman ambassador is focusing her hostility on me in this way — and that I’ve risen to her baiting. But Parwin comes out looking worse for it, her affected aristocratic manners now revealed to be mere snobbery. Perhaps she’s spent her career in positions where it benefited her to tear down other women. And because of this, Vo and Tigue get to act like avuncular peacemakers. It all sickens me.

 _Please, please, please get us out of this soon_ , I think to Ben as the dessert sherbets arrive.

Ben stands abruptly and everyone starts.

“The Counselor and I will be taking our dessert in my suite,” he says. “Good night, Ambassadors. We will be leaving in the morning.”

He picks up two bowls of sherbet from the tray the server is holding. I feel the blood rushing to my face, and I thank the stars for my darker complexion, which keeps me from looking too like a beacon. I stand quickly and nod to everyone.

“It was such a pleasure,” I lie.

Everyone stares back, momentarily startled into silence. Hux’s face has gone slack, but his eyes are burning in Ben’s direction.

Ben looks at me from the corners of his eyes, smirking as if to suppress a laugh, as we walk out of the dining room. The doors open into a huge reception hall hung with chandeliers. Every surface is covered with polished white granite, shimmering under the lights. Ben hands me my sherbet bowl and then, balancing his in his hand, takes off running toward the huge double doors.

“Dammit!” I shout, kicking off my shoes and running after him.

His legs are too much longer than mine for me to catch up. I only manage to grab the hem of his tunic. As I do so, he turns his sprint into a slide, and we glide across the slick floor toward the doors. I shriek with laughter as we tumble into each other, landing in a tangle of black-clad limbs. We manage somehow not to spill our sherbet.

“The Force moves in mysterious ways,” I say, holding up my bowl of pastel orange ice.

We stay on the floor for a moment, eating the sherbet, until he sets his bowl down and kisses me with sweet, cold lips. I push him down, hands on his shoulders, onto his back and climb on top of him, my knees on each side of his hips, as I return it.

This is how we are when the aides and protocol droid come into the reception room from a side passage I didn’t know about.

“Oh dear!” the droid intones. “Supreme Leader, Chief Counselor — are you injur —”

Ben, without looking, makes a quick motion with a hand that had been otherwise occupied, and I hear the crash of the droid toppling over and then sliding back into the passageway. I can’t resist taking a look, and I catch a glimpse of the three aides’ retreating backs. I close the door after them with a nudge in the Force and return my attention to Ben.

* * *

An hour after Ben and I left the dining room, Hux comes pounding on Ben’s door. Ben goes to answer it wrapped in the comforter from the bed. When I come in from the bedroom, Hux has flushed the reddest I’ve ever seen him — it’s almost painful to see.

“Well, that was a damned nightmare,” Hux says as he walks into the room.

“You’re _interrupting_ ,” Ben tells him, and it’s my turn to blush.

“Oh, you’re in a merry mood, I see,” Hux says, brushing past him, and giving me a lookover — I’m wearing a bathrobe — for good measure. “What do you mean by saying we’re leaving tomorrow and then leaving me _alone_ with those droning diplomats?”

He sits down on one of the sofas — they’re navy blue in Ben’s suite — with a huff. Ben sits on one of the armchairs. The comforter isn’t large enough to cover him entirely, and his calves, muscular and still tanned from our day at the beach, are bare beneath its hem.

“Ren,” Hux says, looking past Ben at the night sky outside the window behind him. “I’m perfectly happy to wait while you get dressed.”

Ben doesn’t move, his gaze fixed on Hux, his expression unchanging. Hux squirms slightly.

“I meant just what I said. We’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll conduct the last of our investigation on the _Absolution_ and then rendezvous with the _Finalizer_. I think it’s time to put a greater show of strength over Coruscant.”

“You want me to board the _Absolution_ ,” Hux says, looking at Ben now. He clenches his jaw, and I see his gloved hand tighten on his knee where it’s resting.

“Do you have a problem with that, General?”

Hux squeezes his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and then says, “No, Supreme Leader.”

He is lying. In fact, the dread he is feeling is strong enough to hit me in the stomach, as if the dark emptiness of it is sinking through me and will leave a black hole that sucks up the light. I give a puzzled look to Ben as I cross the room, and I sit down next to Hux on the couch.

“Armitage,” I say. His head is bowed, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. I try to meet his eyes, but he won’t look up. “What is it about the ship? It’s the ship, isn’t it, that’s making you feel this?”

He trembles slightly. “I hate that ship,” he whispers.

I put my hands on Hux’s, which are both now clutching his knees, and look up at Ben, whose eyes are betraying some kind of emotion, but his jaw remains set.

“Ben, couldn’t we take the _Cleopatra_ back to the _Finalizer_?” I ask.

“It’s far more vulnerable than a star destroyer, especially now that we’ve been seen with it,” he says. “Without it being a necessity, it’s not a risk worth taking.”

Next to me, Hux nods slowly. “The Supreme Leader is right,” he says. He takes my hands briefly, and then stands. “No, it’s all right, Miranda. What time do we depart?”

“Nine,” Ben says,

“Understood,” Hux says. He turns to me. “Good night.”

“Good night, Armitage.”

He leaves, walking slowly, deliberately, as if he doesn’t trust his legs to hold him up. Ben watches me look after him, even after the door closes behind him.

“Your concern for the general is touching,” he says, slightly sarcastically.

“You know you’re concerned, too,” I say. “If I can feel that you are, so can you.”

He pauses, considering. “I suppose I am. How strange.” He pushes out his lower lip, shrugs dismissively.

I don’t want to let it just sit, though. “Why is that, do you think? Why care about what Hux is feeling now?”

“I suppose because it affects you,” he says. He gets up from the armchair, still wrapped in the comforter, and lies down on the couch, his head on my lap. He looks up at me. “And I need him to be effective as a general if we’re going to keep the First Order stable.”

“It’s not just that, though,” I say. “I keep imagining — what if Hux had been one of the kids who we’d take field trips with sometimes? You know, from the regular schools, like when we went to the zoo on Sarini Island. Would you and he have been friends?”

“Hux is five years older than us.”

“Really?”

“He was born in the same galactic year as the Battle of Yavin.”

“Hunh. I never thought about it — but that’s not the point, Ben.”

“All right, fine. _Yes_ , I suppose there are certain personality congruences that _could_ have made us friends back then.”

“Mm-hm,” I say. “Well, that’s some progress, I think.”

He sighs and tugs at the ends of my hair. “And I told you that you weren’t going to be _that_ kind of counselor.”

“I knew you were wrong,” I said. “We were always this to each other, so why would that change?”

“Because _I’ve_ changed,” he says. “You know what I am. A monster. The Jedi-Killer. A patricidal mess of conflicting desires.”

“Yes, yes. All that and more.” I smooth out the line that is forming between his eyebrows with my fingertips and then brush the ridiculous mane of dark hair off of his face.

He seems to be pondering something in the direction of his feet for a moment. Then he lifts his eyes back toward me and bites his lip, and I am giddy with stupid love-drunk euphoria.

“I have an idea,” he says.

“Uh-oh.”

“Let’s wait until everyone is asleep and sneak out. We can find a field somewhere like we used to and _run_.”

“I’m not in full running form, Ben.”

“Then I’ll carry you.”

I feel my whole face light up with the joy of imagining it. He smiles back at me, with the goofy, crooked smile of our childhoods.

“All right,” I say. “Let’s go. We don’t really have to _sneak_ , though. You’re the Supreme Leader of the First Order. You can do whatever you want.”

“It’s more fun if we sneak.”

I laugh. “It always was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben certainly seems to be merry, as Hux mentioned. Surely that can't be normal.
> 
> The gazpacho soup thing is another reference to Arnold J. Rimmer from Red Dwarf. 
> 
> Next chapter: A tryst in the garden turns into... something else in the garden. Something involving lightsabers. 
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for sticking around during my teensy vacation hiatus. OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS, I SAW SO MUCH ON THIS VACATION. I went to the King Tutankhamen exhibit at the California Science Center and the Egypt and the Ancient World exhibit at the Gaian Senate Palace -- I mean the J. Paul Getty Center -- and was a trembling mess before all the antiquities. I saw a bust of Alexander the Great, TWO of Mira's (and my) heroine Cleopatra VII (I freaked out security because I squealed when I saw the first one), one of Julius Caesar (I think Hux really is taking the lessons of the would-be emperor's life and death to heart), and one of Marc Antony, and just all manner of stuff that inspired and awed me.
> 
> I think I'll do an explicator post on my Tumblr (@the-call-from-the-light) with the photos I took. I'll put a link up once it's up.


	40. They're Lighting My Way Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira and Ben go out to get some, uh, “fresh air.” And then there’s a disturbance in the woods. Hux is useful again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “But Not Tonight” by Depeche Mode
> 
> Thank you for all the commenting! I have to scramble to catch up after taking a break from writing for a week, and they're so motivating.

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

We slip out of the palace residence, ludicrously tip-toeing in our boots. We’ve dressed against the cool night air — I have long socks on under my dress, and we’re both wrapped in black cloaks made of fine gaberwool — so different from the rough spun cloaks we wore as padawans when we would sneak out. We carry our lightsabers with us. Secure compound or not, Ben is still the Supreme Leader venturing outside on a dark night.

Every security system deactivates as we go through the corridors and halls, thanks to Ben’s cylinder, and then reactivates as we move past. There are patrol droids lazily skimming across the floor in the palace’s foyer. They bloop and turn toward us curiously, but then return to their rounds when their scans recognize us.

And then we are outside in the cool night, and it is as if my body lights up as I breathe in the air. Ben holds my hand as we descend the stairs that lead to the complex’s botanical garden. Neither of us speak, the weight of other nights when we walked together just like this on our minds — not heavy or burdensome, just encompassing. It feels like reliving every moment of our shared youths at once.

We trot through the winding paths, the branches of weeping birches and Bay laurels brushing our heads, the gravel shifting and crackling under our feet. We find ourselves in a little thicket of shrubs with white, fragrant flowers and a bed of soft grass between them, open to the sky. We lie down, side by side, our hands touching.

“Different stars,” he says.

“Same stars,” I say. “Different angle.”

I feel his hair brush my cheek as he turns to look at me. “You’re keeping something from me,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me what it is, but it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t tell you I feel it.”

I look up at the stars a little while longer. A meteor trails across the sky then disappears. I see the nebulae behind the stars. I see the space between them.

“I saw her,” I finally say, knowing I won’t have to explain whom I mean.

“How?” His voice is flat.

“A vision. The crystal showed her to me.”

“It’s hers then, the crystal.”

His hand is still on mine, but his skin is growing cold. I turn my hand over and close it around his, warming it.

“Yes.”

“Well, what happened? What did you see?”

“She was crying.”

He doesn’t answer, but I feel the small stab of pain under his ribs, the throb along the scar she gave him.

“She saw the vid of us together, and she thinks you’re lost to the Light. To her.”

“I am,” he says simply, his lips close to my ear, and tightens his hand around mine.

I don’t argue with him.

“And what did you do?” he asks.

“I… I _taunted_ her,” I say, ashamed. “I made her understand that you are _mine_ , that everything the First Order commands is _mine_ , that I am beautiful and powerful and she is just a little desert mouse who refused everything I have. That she is a child, naive and ridiculous to think she could ever be what I am to you.”

His mouth is on mine almost before I finish speaking, and he is pulling my dress up, then sliding his hand under it under it. We fumble with our cloaks, finally managing to pull them off and toss them aside. He pulls my long stockings down below my knees and squeezes my thighs as he pushes them apart, his long fingers digging into the flesh, his chest crushing my breasts. I push back against him, and our mouths open to each other. His hand moves higher, and I lift my hips so he can tug off my underwear. At the same time, I’m pulling at the waistband of his pants, and his mouth moves to my neck. We part and he braces his hands on the grassy ground, looking down at me with intense eyes, a smile on his lips, and I almost laugh in response.

This is _joyful_ — the awkward way we have to push aside our clothes for our bodies to meet, our fingers clumsy in the cool air; the secrecy, as if we are the teenagers we never got to be at the Temple, not even the time we snuck away and spent a night together in a cheap inn, where the lean-faced proprietor gave us a knowing look as we handed over the credits, our cheeks burning. But our training, our belief in ourselves as Jedi, had stopped us from doing what we both knew we wanted, even though our bodies sang out for each other the way the crystals in our lightsabers did for us. But now — it’s as if the fullness of our humanity is twining itself around us and our place in the galaxy, here with the scent of Bay leaf and gardenia and jasmine around us, under the stars, the grass beneath us. I feel it — not balance, but chaos. Beautiful chaos — the chaos of our selves in the Force merging and pulling apart and flowing in and out of each other.

He kisses me again, and our teeth clash in our eagerness, and this time we _do_ laugh as we nip at each others’ lips and interlace our fingers. This is Ben Solo making love to me, not Kylo Ren, not the Supreme Leader. _Ben Solo_ , my first love. My only love.

I want to tell him. My chest is so full of the desire that it feels like I’ll burst, but I am afraid — afraid he won’t say the same, afraid that I’ll frighten him, afraid that to speak the words is to betray everyone he ever hurt as Kylo Ren.

 _I know you’re afraid_ , he once told me. _Fight it._

“Ben,” I say, then shudder and gasp as he pushes deeper inside of me, rolling his hips against mine. “Ben, I —”

He unlaces one of his hands from mine and brushes my hair off my face. “What?” he says.

“I want to know,” I say. “I want to know what you feel.”

“You know what I feel. It’s what you feel.”

“Then tell me.” I’m arching closer to climax, and I want to hear it on his lips first.

He fixes his eyes on me, their centers impossibly black, his mouth impossibly red, and I feel myself looking at him the way I always do — as if he’s the whole galaxy. I am so powerless against him, but so powerful with him.

“Mira,” he says. He breathes. He can’t say the words. I feel how he can’t, how Kylo Ren fights against feeling them, even as he, works himself deeper inside me.

I clutch at his shoulder with my free hand, almost overcome now. He cradles my cheek in his hand, his thumb tugging down my bottom lip. His breath is catching, his muscles taut.

My voice is high and clear in the cold night air, tears pricking from my eyes and falling, and his love, the unspoken word, pours into me, spreading like ripples through my body and extending the moment of pleasure to seem impossibly long, and I sustain it until my cry turns into whimper and we both collapse into the grass. Someday — someday he’ll be able to tell me. But now, as I hold his spent form in my arms and feel his breath, rapid and warm, on my neck, and look up and see the stars — this is enough.

* * *

We lie in the grass for a long time, our cloaks pulled back around us, not speaking very often, just as we used to. There is so much to talk about, but I can’t keep the subjects in my mind for more than a moment. Eventually, we sit up again, and I set about making a wreath from bay laurel branches.

I arrange the wreath of leaves around his ears and then draw back to admire the effect.

“Just like Alexander the Great,” I say to myself, pleased with my handiwork.

“You’re happy,” he says.

I look at his beautiful profile in the moonlight. “You’re happy too,” I say. “It’s strange.”

“Being happy?”

“ _You_ being happy.”

I scoot back against him, and he puts his cloak around me as I settle my head on his chest, huddling against the fabric of his shirt. “But at the same time it’s familiar. It’s how I remember you — well, one of the ways. I haven’t felt it in so long. When you came back to me, your presence in the Force was so strange.”

“What do you mean, strange?”

“It was… like I could just see the tips of the spikes of your anger, and behind it just a muddle — I could hardly see you in it. Or _Ben_ in it, I should say.”

“And now?”

“Now you are more like you used to be — changed, of course. We all change. I wouldn’t want to turn you back into what you used to be or even change you into something else. I don’t want to deny your experience.”

He is silent for a moment. “ _She_ wanted me to turn.”

“What does that mean, anyway?” I scoff. “As if the Force is divided into two sides of a conflict. _Turn toward the light, turn toward the darkness_. Why not just face the Force, head on?”

He laughs quietly. “If only you had someone you could teach, Mira.”

“I’m sorry, am I pontificating?” I say. “As if you need to have the Force explained to you. You’re stronger in it than I can even imagine.”

“The way you use your influence, though,” he says,” I can’t do that. You’re like my… like Leia Organa in that.”

“Have you felt her again — in the Force?”

“No,” he says.

“Me neither. What would she say now? I’m sure the Resistance watches _Galaxy Insider_ just like everyone else. She deserves to know, though — about her mother.”

“Perhaps.”

We fall silent again and lie back down, even drifting toward sleep, but both of us raise our heads a fraction of a second before a klaxon blares and strobe lights activate all over the compound. We jump to our feet, standing back to back, and scan the terrain. The laurel crown tumbles from Ben’s head into the grass.

“This isn’t because of us,” I say.

“There,” Ben says, pointing toward the woods beyond the outer compound wall. “There’s something —”

There’s a blast that sends a rippling shockwave across the garden and a puff of fire and smoke into the air. We are running toward it before the security droids even emerge from their stations in alcoves around the bases of the buildings and the inner wall. They’re Imperial KX enforcer droids, old but still lethally effective. They march with their long legs through the blast doors in the compound’s inner wall and over the open field that stretches to the outer wall.

Ben and I follow them, streaking over the field, our lightsabers in hand, ready to ignite. The droids recognize us from our cylinders and their ID systems, and one addresses Ben.

“Supreme Leader, what are your orders?” it says in its rumbling voice.

“Give us cover,” Ben calls over his shoulder as we run by. “Follow protocol.”

The droids, a dozen of them now — and I hear them calling for reinforcement — get into formation behind us. Ahead of us, through the smoke there are figures beginning to take form. The communication between Ben and me  becomes silent, not even words passed between our minds — our training takes over, and we know exactly how to handle the situation. We ignite our lightsabers before the first bolts are away and block them easily. I see the red crackle of Ben’s blade in the corner of my eye. My own glows with a green heart, radiating amber through the smoke. The light from our weapons intimidates, but it also makes us easy targets. The blaster bolts ricochet from our blades too quickly to count, and we press forward.

The droids at our flanks lay down cover fire, and two of the figures fall. Ben pulls the blaster rifles away from them. The weapons fly behind us and clatter together in the grass. Another figure emerging through the smoke raises a blaster and, without even thinking, I cut him down, with a slice that makes him fall to his knees, and then drop face-down in the grass. I’m momentarily stunned. I have never used my lightsaber to kill anyone. The crystal whirs in sympathy with me, consoling me as much as echoing my shock.

“ _Mira!_ ” Ben yells through the blaster fire and I come back to myself in time to block another bolt and swing my blade, back-handed, at another figure, a woman this time. She falls as if she’s merely tripped on a rock, and I move past her without turning to see how she lands.

Emerging from the smoke now is a droid — an ancient battle droid from the Galactic Civil War. I don’t have time to think about it, however. To my right, Ben is slicing through adversaries without pausing, leaving a wake of bodies and the acrid smell of singed cloth and flesh behind him. The bolts flying at us are sparse now, and some of those I deflect fell the people who fired them.  I Force-push the battle droid into the wall, crumpling it, while blocking shots and making my way to their source.

“Drop your weapon!” I yell through the smoke.

 _Don’t make me kill you_ , I think. But the blaster fire keeps coming. I reach out and pull the blaster away — it’s a battered thing, almost as old as the battle droid. The smoke between me and the figure thins, and I see her now. Her eyes are full of righteous fury, and her teeth are gritted tight as she sees me. _Lora San Tekka_. The Church of the Force.

I have my lightsaber raised, but I hesitate. She’s no longer armed, and I could put her under my power easily. I hear someone coughing through a dying breath behind me, the zapping of Ben’s lightsaber, the fire of the KX droids.

“I should have known what you are,” she says.

The disdain overtakes me once again. “You would have known, if the Force spoke to you,” I say. “But it doesn’t, does it?”

The fury in her face is momentarily goes slack, as if she’s been been slapped. I am about to reach out to the Force to subdue her — we’ll want someone to question — when she pulls a blade from her sleeve and lunges at me. She’s on me so quickly that I can’t use my lightsaber. It’s in my left hand, so I have to grab awkwardly at her right wrist with my right hand. I get my fingers around her to stop the arc of her stab and then step back, pulling her off balance. I kick her in the hip, letting go of her wrist at the same moment, and she staggers backward. Her anger seems to propel her, though, and she moves to attack again. I raise my lightsaber, but she stops suddenly, mid-charge.

A charred circle has appeared on her tunic, right where her heart is, and she falls, whispering, “The Force is with me, and I am one with the Force.”

The field is suddenly silent. None of our attackers are left alive. I turn, expecting to see that one of the KX droids had fired the shot, but instead I see Hux walking toward me, still in his uniform, possibly a little tipsy. He holds his blaster at his side. He smiles, closed-lipped, when he meets my eyes.

“Seems I’ve returned the favor,” he says, stepping around a body without so much as glancing down.

“You saved me a swing, anyway,” I say, deactivating my lightsaber. I put it back on my belt. I am hardly even breathing hard, I realize.

Ben walks through the thinning smoke to us. “Your friends from the beach, Mira,” he says. “There were more of them than we thought. And they have more resources than we thought. We should have killed them then.”

He says it lightly, matter-of-factly. We survey the field. There are nineteen bodies, men and women. Ben killed most of them, with a kind of methodical, indifferent brutality. And yet — I look at him, and I see only his strength, the man fighting by my side, as he envisioned that first day in the _Finalizer’s_ training room.

The head of security at the senate palace, a tall man with sunburned skin and white hair that stands atop his head like a flame, arrived with ten armed guards at some point during the battle, but they don’t seem to have even unholstered their weapons. Hux strides over to him with the full force of everything that the name General Armitage Hux carries. He is incensed, or at least acting like he is. I catch some of his words as the wind shifts.

“ _Endangering the life of the Supreme Leader…. Utter incompetence…. The First Order does not forget, you’ll find._ ” And clearer now — “What are you waiting for? Secure the wall and sweep those woods! I’m calling down a squadron of troopers from the _Absolution_  — because clearly securing a supposedly _heavily fortified_ compound is beyond your capabilities.”

Some guards and KX droids walk to the wall and form two row at the breach. The front row walks through the breach in pairs.

I walk to a clear space in the field and tug my long stockings back up over my knees. The head of security rushes over to me, Hux at his heels.

“Counselor! We have to get you to safety until we clear the area. There could be more of them hiding in the woods.”

I nod, but I say, “There’s not. This was an attack of desperation. They’ll have sent every fighter they have.” I look back at the bodies in the field. “What will you do with them?”

He shrugs. “They’ll get taken to the morgue. After that, it’s none of my business.”

I am about to retort in annoyance at his flippant response when Hux cuts in behind the man.

“Just who do you think you are, addressing the Chief Counselor like that?” Hux says, his voice dangerously even.

The man jerks to attention as Hux stands by my side, glaring.

“Apologies, General.”

“Not to me, you imbecile,” Hux hisses.

He turns to me. “I apologize for speaking like that, ma’am. I meant no disrespect.”

“Thank you,” I say, and the coldness of my voice surprises me. “You are to tell the morgue that should anyone contact them to claim the remains, they are to inform us. It's unlikely anyone will, though.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ben walks over now, and gives the man a level look. “I think the Counselor, General, and I have shown that we can handle ourselves,” he says, in his low, commanding voice.

He takes a step back. “Yes, Supreme Leader,” he says.

“You’re dismissed,” Ben replies, and then abruptly turns away.

Hux and I follow suit, falling into our formation — the Supreme Leader ahead in the center, Hux and I a step behind. We walk silently toward the landing platform. Overhead, a First Order transport shuttle carrying a squadron of stormtroopers is descending. The First Order will be occupying Gaia after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was happy Hux got to do some generaling in this chapter. He’s probably missed bossing people around and being extra.
> 
> When I’m writing in first person, I always have to be aware of whether the narrative is being me or being the character. Some part of me is always going to be there, though, and Mira’s tendency to get distracted is one of them. Girl keeps doing it over and over — tuning out on conversations to follow whatever daisy chain of thought catches her fancy. And here, she does it in the middle of a freaking fire fight.
> 
> Have you seen the _Wuthering Heights_ miniseries with Tom Hardy as Heathcliff and Charlotte Riley as Cathy? Writing this chapter reminded me of it. I was thinking of doing a whole Wuthering Heights AU thing with Kylo as Heathcliff and Mira as Cathy and Hux as Edgar Linton, only it would be all in the Mira of this fic's imagination while she's supposed to be paying attention in a bridge officer meeting or something. It would have an anachronistic soundtrack by The Smiths -- "We are on a silent, misty moor." But I'm doing a Jedi in Disguise thing with my WH idea instead to write a _Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell_ -style original fiction.
> 
> Sorry. I got distracted.
> 
> Next chapter: Mira and Ben find a small something in the woods — and dammit if that doesn’t complicate things even more


	41. I Once Had Child and It Saved My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery in the woods after the Church of the Force attack on the Gaian Senate Palace changes our trio’s plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “The Hand that Rocks the Cradle” by The Smiths

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

 “I needn’t ask what you two were doing outside,” Hux says to me as we cross the walkway to the landing platform.

“The gardens here are lovely at night,” I reply.

“Hmm,” he says. “There’s grass in your hair.” He brushes it off me with a quick motion.

The shuttle has landed by the time we reach the platform. When the bay door opens, the troopers are standing in formation, prepared for orders. The squadron commander steps forward and stands at attention in front of Ben. I’m suddenly acutely aware of how odd we must look, dressed in our civilian clothes, our faces flushed from the cool air.

If the commander notices, there’s no sign. “Supreme Leader,” she says, voice distorted by the helmet’s vocoder, but distinctly female. “Commander Vrey, sir.”

“You’ve been briefed?” Ben asks.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Send half the squadron to sweep the woods for evidence that can lead us back to the attackers’ cell, if there is one. The other half is to secure the perimeter of the building,” Ben says. “The General, Counselor, and I will convene briefly, and then we’ll join you.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Vrey pauses to salute Hux and nod at me. She then gestures the troopers forward to receive orders. We stand to one side as they march forward, blaster rifles in hand, the unmistakable sound of their plastoid armor announcing the First Order’s arrival. Half the squadron marches forward, then the other half pauses for us to take our place between the two groups. At the end of the platform walkway, the first group breaks off with Vrey toward the breach in the wall. We lead the rest to the palace residence, and then go inside, leaving the troopers to sweep the exterior and take posts around the building to secure it.

“I don’t suppose we’re leaving tomorrow anymore,” Hux says to Ben once we’re inside.

Ben doesn’t answer. He is staring hard at the marble floor, but I can tell he’s not really seeing it. His left hand, gloveless, is balled into a fist, and he grips his lightsaber tightly in his right hand. His body is practically shaking with tension. He finally turns to Hux and me, his teeth bared, like a wild animal’s.

Hux’s posture stiffens as he prepares for one of Kylo Ren’s infamous rages — the igniting of the lightsaber, the sparks flying as he unleashes his fury onto a wall or door or console. But we are in the middle of a vast, round foyer, and there is nothing for him to destroy. Even the security droids are keeping their distance. So he paces, clenching and unclenching his fist. He puts his lightsaber back on his belt and stands with his back to us, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breath.

And then he turns and is composed — his gaze still dark and intense, his red lips pressed together. “Mira,” he whispers gruffly. “Will you come here, please?”

I walk over to him and stand looking at him for a moment. Suddenly, he raises his hand and presses his palm to my cheek, his fingers tracing my brow, his thumb sliding along my bottom lip. It as if he his confirming my solidity, my bodily presence. He removes his hand and puts his arms around me, pulling me against him, pressing his face into my hair. His long arms envelope me entirely, my head tucked under his chin, my cheek on his chest.

He wasn’t like this after the fight with the stormtroopers on the _Finalizer_. I didn’t feel any of the fear that pervades him now, the fear that he could have lost me. I suppose my illness did it — made my mortality real, and there’s still the worry about my strength as I recover. But it’s also because of his grandmother. And his grandfather. The revelation that Padmé has been near him — ever since Starkiller Base was destroyed, when she somehow managed to come into contact with him — has reminded him that Darth Vader lived through two agonizing decades thinking Padmé was dead, and thinking he was the cause of her death.

When he releases me, he raises his eyes to Hux, who is standing where I left him, his eyes cast away from us. He senses Ben’s gaze and looks up.

“Thank you, Hux,” Ben says.

Hux nods, awkwardly, but when he speaks, it is with emotion that makes his voice low and husky. “It was my duty and my pleasure, Ren.”

I smile at them both. This exchange isn’t purely for my sake. “You ridiculous men, I was never in any danger,” I say. “Still, I’m very grateful. Thank you, Armitage.”

I hold out my hand, and he crosses the foyer and takes it.

“Let’s go get tidied up and join the search party,” I say.

We walk to the elevator to our suites’ level, my left hand tucked under Ben’s arm. In my right, I still hold onto Hux’s fingertips.

* * *

When we join the search outside the wall, Ben and I have showered and are back in our uniforms. Hux is his usual impeccable general self.

“Millie’s gone mad,” Hux tells me as we walk, flanked by two stormtroopers. “I found her under the bed, growling like a rancor.”

“Poor kitty,” I say, amused at Hux’s priorities. “She’ll be all right once things settle down out here.”

“I’m all out of her favorite treats, too.”

Commander Vrey walks over to us as we approach and salutes.

“Anything?” Ben asks.

“No, Supreme Leader. There’s still a lot of woods to cover, though.”

He nods and we walk past her to the breach in the wall. Ben examines the jagged, singed durasteel and debris, taking care not to disturb too much.

“Mining charges,” he says, standing. “Collect samples,” he tells Vrey. “We’ll trace where they’re getting their supplies.”

We step through and scan the woods — though not just with our eyes and ears, as the palace guards and stormtroopers are limited to. I feel a tug in the Force coming from within the woods. I turn to Ben and he nods. We move in the direction of the tug, leaving Hux to oversee the search operation.

We move quickly but quietly, dappled with the moonlight that shines through the trees. The leaves here are beginning to turn and fall, and the thick pale trunks of the beeches rise like massive bones around us. Ben gestures to a huge tree about an eighth of a klick ahead, its trunk deeply corrugated and covered in moss. We approach it, one of us on each side, hands on our lightsabers. As we inch around the trunk, a small figure emerges from a deep crevice and races away.

Ben raises his hand to stop them, but I gesture at him to stop and then run after the child — because that’s what the figure is, a child, no more than six or seven.

“Wait,” I call. “We’re not going to hurt you!”

The child looks back toward me. I’m already closing the space between us when they trip and fall. They land hard on their belly, obviously knocking the wind out of themselves. I run over and kneel down next to the child, and she — I see that she is a girl now — turns over and begins scrambling backward away from me, gasping, her feet kicking up old leaves. Her eyes are wide and frightened, but I can’t make out her features clearly in the shadowed moonlight. I put my lightsaber back on my belt and hold my hands out, my palms facing her.

“See? Please, I won’t hurt you.”

I let her back away from me a few more feet without moving toward her. She stands, ready to spring away, but I hold my hand out to her.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Come with me. I’ll take you to the palace, get you some food, get you warm.”

I don’t want to mind trick her, but I can’t let her get away. Fortunately, the offer of food and warmth is enough to soften her resistance. She walks hesitantly toward me, her eyes darting from my hands to my face. When she gets close enough, she takes my hand, and then I feel it. She looks into my eyes, trembling.

“It’s all right,” I say. “I understand.”

We walk together back to Ben, who is waiting near the tree, knowing that he isn’t necessarily the best person to lure a scared child out of the woods. She presses herself behind me when she sees him. He backs away from us, folding his hands in front of himself and trying to soften his expression.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “This is just my friend. He’s going to stay out here while we go inside.”

She nods, and we walk steadily toward the light of the palace compound.

“I’m Miranda,” I say. “What is your name?”

“Allegra,” she whispers. “But my mama and papa called me Allie.”

“Called you? What —” I stop myself from asking her parents’ fate.

At the sight of the stormtroopers she almost darts away again, but I put my arm around her shoulders. She is shaking and her teeth are beginning to chatter. I realize I can’t walk her past the bodies lying in the field. I lean over and pick her up, and she clings to me.

“I want you to put your face against my shoulder and close your eyes,” I say. “Understand?”

She nods and obeys. I walk through the breach. Hux is standing nearby, frowning, his hands clasped behind his back. He sees me carrying the girl, and his expression unexpectedly turns to concern as I approach him. He walks next to me as I pass through the scene of the fight.

“Who is this?” he asks when we’re well past where the bodies lie in the field, as cheerily as he can in his clipped Imperial accent.

“My new friend Allegra,” I say. “You can look up now, honey. This is another one of my friends, General Hux.”

“Hello,” Hux says solemnly, taking off his cap and holding out his hand.

Allegra lets go of my neck and shakes his hand, equally solemnly. “Hello, General Hugs,” she says.

I sputter and Hux reddens, but he doesn’t correct her.

“I’ve never seen hair like that,” she says.

Hux ducks his head. “Ah, yes. It _is_ quite rare.”

“I’m going to take her inside,” I say. “He’s still out there searching the woods to see if there is anyone else.” I don’t use either of Ben’s names or his title. If this little girl is from the Church of the Force, the words _Kylo Ren_ or _Supreme Leader_ will terrify her.

“There’s no one,” she says. “There was just me. I wasn’t supposed to follow them, but I did.”

I set her down and Hux leans close to me so he can speak quietly without Allegra overhearing.

“Question her as gently as you can,” he says, “but it’s imperative that we get information about the cell’s base of operations here.”

“I understand,” I say.

I lead the girl to the residence building and she looks around in wonder, before shrinking away from the stormtroopers once again.

“Don’t be afraid,” I say. “They’re here to protect us.” I turn to the closest trooper. “Hello,” I say. “What is your designation, please?”

“Good evening, Chief Counselor. CN-5321, ma’am,” she says. “The building is secured.”

“Thank you, CN-5321,” I say.

“I’ve never heard a name like that,” Allegra says

“The troopers have special names,” I whisper, “but watch this.”

“CN-5321, will you tell me your _other_ name? Don’t worry, Allegra and I will keep it secret.”

She doesn’t answer immediately. I sense her hesitation, then her trust in me. “Cyan, ma’am,” she says. “Not just because of my designation. The color of my eyes, ma’am.”

“That’s lovely!” I say. “Thank you for telling me.”

When we go inside, I tell Allegra, “You see? You should always remember there are people under those helmets.”

She turns in circle on the marble floor of the foyer to gaze around. A security droid approaches and she draws nearer to me again. I lead her past it to the elevator to show her there’s nothing to worry about.

“Do you live here?” she asks as we ride to the floor of the suites.

“I’m just staying here for a little while,” I say.

“Where do you live?”

I smile. “In space. On a big ship.”

“Really?” Her eyes are wide. “We came here on a ship, but it wasn’t big. We had to hide, under the floor.”

“Really,” I say. “Where do you live?”

I see now that she is terribly grubby, with tangled black hair, copper-brown skin, and green eyes — darker than Hux’s, veering toward emerald. She’s also very thin.

She doesn’t answer right away, twisting her mouth up as if considering. “I don’t like to say about here. But before here, I lived on Jakku, with my mama and papa and baby brother.”

 _Jakku_.

“Did your family come here with you too?” I ask.

She looks down and shakes her head. I decide not to question her any further yet.

I order food once I’m in my suite — noodles and cheese, apples, a glass of milk, a slice of chocolate cake.

“Now,” I say. “While we wait for your food, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I start the bath running while she looks around in wonder and ponders her reflection in the mirror.

“All right, clothes off and hop in. I’ll go in the other room so you can have privacy,” I say when the tub is full.

She gazes at the water, pale blue in the white tub. “You want me to get in there? All of me?”

I laugh. “Yes, that’s the idea of a bath. But you’ve probably never had one, since you’re from the desert.”

She nods her head.

“I hadn’t either when I was your age, not until —” Until the Temple, and the ritual baths, the hot springs. “Not until I moved away from Tatooine.”

I show her the soap and shampoo and explain how to use them. I leave as she’s poking the surface of the water dubiously. She smiles widely.

“It’s _warm_ ,” she breathes.

The girl’s clothes are tattered and dirty beyond repair, so while she bathes I look through my clothes to find something that might fit her. I come across my old tunic that my mother embroidered with poppies.

“Perfect!” I say to myself.

* * *

A half hour later, and she’s clean, smelling _much_ better. I ended up having to wash her hair for her, and empty and refill the tub to get her complete clean. She’s dressed in my tunic, which hangs past her knees.

“It’s not haute couture,” I say, “but it’ll do, right?”

“Yes, thank you, ma’am.”

“You have such good manners, Allegra!” I say. “But you can call me Miranda.”

“Yes, Miss Miranda.”

The food arrives and she eats with ravenous abandon. We sit across from each other in the dining room, but she doesn’t even notice me as she devours her meal.

“Do you want more?” I ask when she’s eaten everything.

She nods vigorously. Color is rising in her cheeks now that she’s had some nourishment. I place the order and then lean toward her.

“Is it all right if I ask you some questions?”

She nods, but hesitantly this time, her lips pressed close, her eyes worried.

“Where are your parents?”

“On Jakku,” she whispers.

“Why are you here without them?”

“We were too poor, miss. Two ladies came to my parents and said they’d take care of me, teach me — like at a school. So they took me away.” Tears spring in her eyes. “I didn’t know they were gonna take me so far away. My mama and papa — they don’t know where I am, and they’ll never find me.”

I feel as if my blood has stilled.

“Are there other children?” I ask.

She nods. “The ladies that took me, they say we’re learning to be aco —” She pauses and then says slowly, deliberately, “Acolytes.”

I take this in. _Stealing children,_  I think. _The First Order, the Church of the Force. The future needs children._

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Allegra,” I say, keeping my anger out of my voice. “They were very wrong to take you away from your parents.” I reach across the table and put my hand on hers. “I’m going to do everything I can to try to you back to Jakku, back to your parents. And the other children, too, if you tell me where they are.”

She looks up, hope in her eyes. “You can do that, miss?”

I smile. “Didn’t I tell you I live in space on a big ship? I used to be a little girl like you, living on a desert planet. But now everyone on that ship will do what my friends and I want them to. I can do almost anything.”

She looks at me in wonder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errr, Mira? Maybe don’t extol the wonders of being in the leadership of a fascist autocracy to a small, impressionable child? Just a tip.
> 
> Ben’s near-tantrum in this chapter was difficult for me because I didn’t want him turning back into _that_ Kylo Ren — but the idea is that he was able to work down to the emotion underneath his rage and realize that it came from an intense love for Mira that he still can’t articulate. And a little bit from having to push down his pride and thank Hux — and, in a sense, to acknowledge Hux’s feelings for Mira, too. I’m proud of my boy. He’s working hard.
> 
> The idea that Hux is good with kids is something that came out of my own reading of the character, which I incorporated into the story way back when he argued with the boy at the farmer’s market. He only got into the argument because he took the kid’s criticism seriously enough to engage with him. Shortly after writing this chapter, when Hux meets Allegra, I got to the scene in _Phasma_ where there’s a scared child, and of all the people around her, Armitage is the only one who comforts her. Vindicated by canon! It’s a feeling.
> 
> Next chapter: A rescue mission, Ben gets to do some Supreme Leading, and quiet time with Hux and Millie.


	42. Let Your Puny Body Lie Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue mission. Ben Supreme Leads. Mira and Hux argue and then… don’t argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter of the title is from “Stretch Out and Wait” by The Smiths.
> 
> Sorry for the late update! I was ready to post yesterday and then STUFF came up.

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

I watch from the sofa as Hux sits with Allegra in the dining room. She has an enormous bowl of pink ice cream and is giggling as she feeds him spoonfuls in between her own. I have no idea who the hell this man who is sitting at my suite’s dining room table is. But then — I think of the little boy at the farmers’ market whom Hux was earnestly — if drunkenly — arguing with about droids. It seems that Hux likes children, which is a horrifying thought, considering what his training does to them. He treats them on their own terms, taking their emotions seriously — one of the reasons he is so dangerously effective at turning children into killers.

He and Ben have come in to hear what I’ve learned from Allegra. She gave me a description of where the other children are, and the palace’s security force pinpointed the location, a storage facility on the outskirts of the city. Commander Vrey is on the way there with her squadron. She’s been ordered to treat it as a rescue mission, and all the troopers have stun weapons. They have sidearms, too, but are only to use them in dire necessity.

“ _This_ on top of everything else,” Ben says to me quietly. “The First Order doesn’t have resources to spare for humanitarian missions.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You’ve said yourself that uprisings have slowed. And there’s been no attack from the Resistance proper in _months_. The New Republic has been completely subdued. I read the briefs, too. They’re asking for _terms_. The war is over. You wanted a government instead of a military, so now is the time. Humanitarian missions are something governments _do_.”

He sighs. “It’s not that simple. Returning the kids also means having to clear their respective planets of the Church of the Force and investigating if they’re trafficking children — and that is… tricky.”

“Because the First Order does the same thing.”

“Because the First Order does the same thing,” he repeats.

“Then maybe it _shouldn’t_ ,” I say pointedly. “Start with this. _Then_ deal with that.”

Ben presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and then rakes his fingers through his hair.

“You know you’re just making a lot more work for yourself,” he says.

“Oh, is that going to be part of my job description now, too?” I say, smiling. “I’m going to have to request a raise in pay.”

He leans forward and kisses me. Then we both realize then that Allegra is watching us. Hux whispers something to her and she giggles.

And with that, Ben is Kylo Ren. “We need to monitor the mission and be on hand when the squadron returns,” he says, standing. “Call in those aides who keep hovering around to take care of the girl.”

* * *

There’s a command tower near the landing platform and we follow  the rescue from there. Commander Vrey wears a body cam, but it’s hard to make out what’s happening in the dim light.

“Sir, we have eyes on the location,” Vrey says. “We’ll have to set down about a quarter klick away and approach on foot.”

I watch the holoscreen tensely as she leads her squadron through a bleak urban setting — all cracked concrete and abandoned buildings. They break through a locked metal gate and then make their way to a long building with evenly spaced metal roll-up doors.

“Look for 204,” Vrey tells the troopers.

“Here, commander!” a voice calls from off-screen.

The roll-up door is secured with a simple padlock that is easily broken. Vrey moves to pull up the door and the troopers stand beside her, their stun blasters raised.

I don’t see what is inside immediately. Then the troopers illuminate the space with their helmet lights, and there they are, huddled at the back of the space — five children, filthy and frightened, and an old woman with long gray hair. Ethra, the woman I met in Bonny Doon. She stands in front of the children.

“Show us your hands!” Vrey yells.

The woman’s hands are in the folds of her skirt. She raises the left. And then, with the right, she raises a blaster. The troopers stun her before she can even level it. The children scream as she falls and scramble farther back in the space, their eyes wild with fear.

“Commander Vrey,” I say through the comm. “Take off your helmet.”

“Ma’am, that’s against regulations.”

“The kids are scared,” I say, frustrated.

“Commander, you may forgo regulations,” Hux says. “Do as Counselor Galan tells you.”

“Yes, sir.”

She holsters her stun blaster. We hear the sound of her helmet releasing, then see her hand it to the trooper to her right. She holds out her hand to the children.

“We’re here to help,” she says.

Timidly, they begin to move away from the wall.

* * *

Everything moves very quickly once we have the children back at the Senate complex. Despite the late hour, Ben orders the Gaian president and head of the Senate in, as well as the regional governor. They dare not refuse. We meet in the same room where we dined with the ambassadors.

“Gaia has harbored terrorists who were smuggling trafficked children,” Ben says in his low voice, standing with his gloved hands on the table. Hux and I stand on either side of him. “You will put an end to this and to turn criminals over to the First Order. And you _will_ do this, or the First Order will have no choice but to take full control of your migration operations.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” President Veritas says, hesitantly. He’s a tall man with pale skin and dark hair. I’ve seen him many times before, in the news. I used to think he reminded me somewhat of an older version of Ben. Now I see that he is so much less. “How shall we go about —”

“ _How?_ ” Ben says through gritted teeth. “If you expect us to hold your hand through this, we might as well take over _now_. You will implement a plan of your own devising, one which I am _sure_ you and your many advisors can accomplish — since, as your ambassadors told us, Gaians are most fit to govern Gaia.”

Ben glares intently at Veritas, leaning on his hands toward him and tilting his head. “Understood?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” He has grown paler.

“You will report back to me in 48 hours with your plan,” Ben says. He straightens and removes his hands from the table, then turns to leave.

“Forty-eight hours?” Veritas says, shakily. “Supreme Leader, with respect, that isn’t enough —”

Ben turns back. “I am sure I heard you say you understood what I said.”

“I did, Supreme Leader.”

“Then we have no more to discuss.”

Hux and I follow him out the door. Ben is striding quickly with long steps, and I have to almost trot to keep up.

“There are facilities on the _Absolution_ where the children may be housed, yes, General?” Ben asks Hux as we walk.

“Yes, Supreme Leader — but those are for children in the stormtrooper training program.”

“I didn’t mean _there_ ,” Ben snaps. “Putting these kids in the cadets’ barracks would be feeding them to predators. I’m sure there’s room in your family’s sumptuous private quarters somewhere.”

“My family’s quarters are no place for children,” Hux says bitterly. “I should know.”

Ben shrugs. “Oh, and speaking of the cadets,” he adds, “we’ll be sending the junior cadets who want to leave back to their families or former caretakers.”

“ _What?”_ Hux steps in front of Ben, but Ben brushes past him. “The stormtrooper program is _mine_ , Ren. _I_ am the commander of the First Order’s forces, and I will not —”

Ben stops and turns back to Hux. “And _I_ am Supreme Leader, General. Have you forgotten?”

Hux flinches, as if expecting the phantom fingers of Ben’s use of the Force to close around his throat. But they do not.

“I haven’t forgotten, Supreme Leader,” he says.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, if your methods are as effective as you say. All of the propaganda you pump into their minds should make them unwilling to leave.”

“They’re young,” Hux says. “Their conditioning isn’t complete yet.”

“Well, then, this is a good time to give them a choice — while they’re still capable of making one.”

We follow him onto the elevator and stand silently for a moment.

Ben turns to me. “Counselor, you will assist General Hux in making the preparations once we’re on the _Absolution._ ” His expression softens somewhat. “It’s late. I’m going to my quarters for the night, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” I say.

He wants to be alone, but he wants me to know it’s not a rejection of _me_. There’s so much to think about — his grandmother foremost. I want to talk to him about her, but he’s not ready. The elevator doors open. He takes my hand and squeezes it, whispers, “Good night, Mira,” then walks down the long corridor to his suite. Hux and I stand looking warily at each other.

“I suppose this was _your_ idea,” Hux says to me as Ben closes the door to his suite.

“I just said that if we’re going to condemn the Church of the Force for stealing children, the First Order might need to stop doing that itself.”

“We do not _steal_ children — they’re orphans or their parents are compensated for —”

“Oh, so you _buy_ children?” I say sarcastically. “That’s _so_ much better, General!”

The door to my suite cracks open and Sylvia peeks out.

“Counselor?” she says softly. “The little girl — she’s asleep. I made a bed for her on the sofa. Shall I stay here?”

“Yes, please, Sylvia,” I say. “I’m not finished speaking with the General.”

She nods, withdraws into the room, and closes the door.

Hux is at his door now, opening it.

“That’s funny,” he says. “I thought we were _quite_ finished speaking.”

I follow him into his room, carrying on the argument, but really just not wanting to be alone, not after all that happened tonight. “We’re going to have to work together to implement the Supreme Leader’s orders.”

Hux is pulling off his gloves as I speak to him. He drops them on a table and begins unfastening his uniform tunic. He steps closer to me, the toes of his boots against mine.

“I _said_ , Counselor, that we are finished speaking.”

I tilt my head up at him. “Are we?”

It’s no use. We both know what is happening. Before I can even draw another breath, he is pressing his mouth on mine and I am pulling off his tunic. He shakes it off his arms and then holds me with his hands pressed to the small of my back, pushing my hips into his.

This time, neither of us stops to ask what we’re doing. I put my weight against him, and we topple to the floor, an inelegant heap of uniforms — my tunic sliding off my shoulders now, our boots tugged and kicked off. I stand and pull him up with me, our mouths still locked together. We stagger together and somehow manage to land on the sofa — though we bump the coffee table and knock over a tumbler that, from the smell of it, held brandy — with me beneath him, both of us still mostly clothed, but our hands roving beneath fabric, against skin. I arch my back to press against him and get my legs wrapped around him.

“Miranda —” he begins to say.

“Sshhh.” I put my finger to his lips. “We’re finished speaking, remember?”

But neither of us goes much further than this. The weariness from the events of the night comes over us suddenly and our kisses slow, and our hands divesting each other of our clothes become tender and caressing.

In the end, we sit face-to-face, bare-limbed but not entirely undressed, our foreheads resting against each other as our breathing slows. I have my hands clasped behind his neck and he traces the tattoo on my shoulder and arm with a fingertip.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you, too,” I reply.

And I did. There’s no accounting for it, really. I could suppress my desire for him, live awkwardly wanting him and not having him, just for some notion of traditional fidelity — but why should I? Sometimes I think that if Ben were truly whom I love, if I am truly whom he loves, then I wouldn’t want this with Hux anymore. But this is how our bond works, how it _must_ work, and I have stopped questioning it. And I know now that I am also, in a sense, Kylo Ren to Hux. Not a stand-in, not someone to fuck while he thinks of someone else. I am Kylo Ren’s counterpart, his feminine aspect — his other side in the Force. Hux’s thoughts are still working their way around this new reality, and until our new dynamic settles, we know not to push ourselves further.

There is, too, the reality that tonight I have already dressed down an ambassador, made love to Ben twice, killed a number of people, and rescued a small child. I’m exhausted.

I turn sideways to sit on Hux’s lap and nestle my head against his neck. He puts his arms around me and holds me close, his smooth skin against mine.

“Is this….” He hesitates. “Is this going to be all right? Can he —”

“Sshh,” I say again. “I think… I think there’s an understanding.”

“You think?”

“Don’t worry. This is _my_ body,” I say, “and I do what I want with it. And _my_ mind. And _my_ heart.”

He shakes his head. “I will never understand you. I don’t believe I could ever divide my affections as you do.”

 _My affections._ The same words Padmé used.

“Do you mind it?” I ask.

“Strangely, no.”

“Then what is there to understand? I told you, Armitage. I am my own creature.”

He chuckles. “How does it seem so long ago?” He is quiet for a moment, remembering. “It was as if you were trying to seduce me from the start — from the very first time I spoke to you. Had you already made the plan with —”

“No,” I say. “I suppose part of it was habit. But more of it was that I liked the look of you, you tall ginger.”

“Careful,” he says, mock-sternly. “ _You_ don’t get to use that word. Only Millie and I may use it.”

I laugh and reach up to tousle his hair, then kiss him again and again —  silly, light kisses on his nose and cheeks and lips that make us both laugh.

“I have _fun_ with you, Armitage,” I say. “Thank you.”

He blushes bright pink. “No need to thank me for _that_ ,” he says. “I should be thanking _you_. No one ever thought me capable of fun, I think.”

I stand, looking out the window. The one in my suite faces south, toward the sea; this one faces the mountains to the north in the distance. Their jagged faces glow as a pale light creeps over the horizon to the east.

“Look at that, it’s dawn,” I say. “What a night.”

I turn and begin to pick my clothes up off the floor.

“Don’t,” Hux says from the sofa.

“Don’t what?”

He stands and puts his hand in the crook of my arm. “Don’t go. Stay with me tonight.”

“Armitage, you know I can’t.”

“And why not? Aren’t you your own creature?”

“Too clever, General, using my words against me.” I look at him, so vulnerable in his bare skin. “I suppose sleeping here isn’t going to make anything worse. And I don’t want to disturb Allegra.”

He smiles softly, then takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom. Once there, he goes into his closet and emerges carrying two pairs of pajamas. I take one — black silk — and go into the bathroom to wash up.

There is a staggering array of grooming products on the counter, bottles and jars and tubes, all precisely arranged, their labels facing out. I wash quickly in the shower, though I’d relish taking a long, hot bath. I brush my teeth and hair and put on Hux’s pajamas. They’re too big, with the sleeves flopping over my hands and the hems pooling at my feet. But they smell of Hux’s soap and skin, and, like his skin, they are smooth against my body.

Hux and I trade places when I come out and I slide under the covers into the bed. Millie, apparently over her annoyance, lies down next to me, curling up after a few scritches behind her ears. When Hux comes out of the bathroom, his hair falls softly over his forehead and he smiles almost shyly, looking years younger than usual. Looking like the boy he used to be. Millie greets him with a “ _prrrp_ ,” but doesn’t deign to get up.

He climbs into the bed beside me and we lie down. I rest my head on the pillow and he puts his arms around me. We look at each other silently for a moment. The moment is so domestic, so _normal_.

“I’ve been listening to that music you played for me,” he says.

I’m surprised. “The Smiths?”

“You were right — there’s something in it that reminds me of Arkanis. ‘The rain falls hard on a humdrum town,’ and all. Though I hardly remember Arkanis, now. But a lot of it is just sentimental claptrap, Miranda.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s why I love it.”

He turns and fiddles with the console on his bedside table and then the room fills with “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.”

“This one most of all,” he says, “but for some damnable reason I can’t stop listening to it.”

I laugh, and then kiss him, long and slow, and languorous, as if we have all the time in the world to be by each others’ sides. We part when the song ends and “Stretch Out and Wait” begins.

“ _God, how sex implores you to let yourself lose yourself,_ ” I recite.

“You are wicked,” he says.

“Oh, yes. A Nightsister. Here to bewitch you, body and soul.”

“I meant it, you know,” he says, “what I said that day at the beach. In the ocean. I love you.”

They’re the words I wished so fervently for Ben to say to me, earlier, beneath the stars. They fall from Hux’s lips so easily now, and I catch every movement of his mouth as he says it —the round _I_ , the press of his tongue to the the top of his mouth for _L_ , his teeth meeting his pink bottom lip for _V_ , and the spread of his mouth in a smile for _you._

Why should such a simple thing mean so much to me? I feel with my whole being that Ben Solo loves me, but I have never heard the words from his lips, in his deep, low voice.

“I know, and it gives me life,” I finally say. “Also, I used your toothbrush.”

His eyes go wide. “You _what?_ ”

I laugh and kiss him, and then we settle on our sides, me nested against him, his arm around my waist, my hand resting on his. We listen to the music as we drift off. As I close my eyes, I feel Ben, alone in his bed. He is asleep, and dreaming, and, somehow — peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tension between those two is eventually just gonna snap.
> 
> The ice cream thing is from the LEGO game, of course.
> 
> Ben is kinda just making decisions on the fly and then shoving them onto Mira's plate, isn't he? When you look at it honestly, he is completely unsuited to be the Supreme Leader of a military or a government. He doesn't have the education or the temperament for it. I said recently that going to Luke's Jedi school was probably like going to a small liberal arts college while taking fancy fencing lessons. Hux has the skills for the job, but he's kind of... not a great person. So here we are.
> 
> I feel a bit guilty sometimes because it’s more fun to write Mira and Hux talking to each other than Mira and Ben. Hux and Mira are both such verbal people and enjoy conversational jousting. There's a whole element of flirting that consists of not saying exactly what you mean, too, and that's kind of impossible between Ben and Mira, since they know what the other is feeling at any given point. There’s a whole conversation between Hux and Mira about Poe Dameron that I cut from this chapter because it was just too silly and had nothing to do with anything. Maybe I’ll put it in some kind of “deleted scenes” thing after I’m done.
> 
> I introduced The Smiths early on in the story, so I just have to run with it at this point. I’ve started a short Benarmie fic based on Johnny Marr and Morrissey that I'll finish after this, if I have time.
> 
> “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want” is one minute and fifty-two seconds long, if you’re wondering how long that kiss lasted.


	43. Come Join the Youth and Beauty Brigade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations about the children the Church of the Force kidnapped, the assassination plot against Hux, and Kirgalis Pharmaceutical. Ben and Hux have to hash things out. Mira has some down time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from “California One/Youth and Beauty Brigade” by The Decemberists.

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY_ **

I slip into my room before Ben wakes, though Hux held onto me and nuzzled my neck and persuaded me to stay in bed with him just a little longer. By the time I come out of my bedroom, wearing my dressing gown, Ben is there, having come in via the door rather than the passageway. He sits on one of the armchairs, with Allegra in the other one across from him. They’re looking at each other curiously in silence. It’s such a different scene from Hux and the pink ice cream, but, still Ben is taking her seriously in his own way.

Allegra is still wearing my padawan tunic, and Ben seems to have dressed himself in order not to frighten the child. He’s wearing loose black pants and a black shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and he’s barefoot. Sylvia, rumpled from sleeping on the other sofa, watches Ben warily as I come in, knowing where I really spent the night, but while trying her best to seem as if she’s not looking.

“Good morning, Allegra!” I call as I come in. “Did you sleep well? Have you eaten?”

“Yes, miss,” she says. “Sylvia got me pancakes.”

“I’ll have your breakfast brought up, ma’am, and then may I be excused?” Sylvia asks.

“Yes, of course, Sylvia,” I say, sitting on the sofa and tucking my feet under me. “Thank you for staying here with Allegra. Will you please send up Hans or Sven to take her to see the gardens or wherever else might be interesting to her?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, and is there a way you can have some clothes sent in for her?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll see to that.”

She stands, makes a little bow, and then takes three steps back from us before turning to go to the door. As if we’re royalty. Allegra takes all this in with her big green eyes.

“Will Hux be joining us?” Ben asks.

“I suppose so,” I say. There is an awkward moment of silence. “Shall I call him?”

Before Ben can answer, my door chimes. It is Hans _and_ Sven, since apparently one small girl is too much for just one of them. They must have been waiting in the hallway just to be summoned. Allegra looks at me with worry when I tell her to go with them.

“Don’t worry, they’ll bring you back, I promise. I’m sure they’ll find something fun for you — you can watch some shows on the holo, and maybe have more ice cream, if you want it.”

She hesitates, but then goes with them, holding onto Hans’ hand as he and Sven make their bows and leave the room.

Ben turns his eyes to me as the door closes.

“I was inconsiderate last night,” he says quietly. His breath is coming a bit fast, but he is controlling it. “I should have known you needed… companionship after all that happened.”

He knows where I was last night, then. I remember what he said about not having to explain myself and keep myself from speaking the reassurances that are my first instinct.

“Never mind,” I say. “I needed companionship, you needed solitude. We don’t have to change our needs for each other.”

His jaw works and he swallows, nods.

“Are there times,” I say, considering my words carefully, “when you need companionship and I’m not there to give it?”

“No,” he says simply.

“What if there were?”

“I’ve never considered it. You always know when I need you.”

“You shouldn’t rely on just me,” I say. “I can’t be everything to you.”

“But you _are_.”

“You know that’s not true.”

He looks at me more intently.

“I just mean, Ben, that there are things that I’m not the best person to advise you about or confide in about.”

“And who are you proposing I _do_ confide in?”

“There’s Hux,” I say.

His dark eyebrows draw together. “ _Hux._ ”

“Remember what you said — there are congruences. Our training, our childhoods. He understands, Ben. Or he could, if you talked to him about it.”

“Is that what you and he do when you’re alone? Talk about your childhoods?”

There’s a challenging edge in his voice that I want to ignore. In my mind, though, I reply _Is that what you talked to_ _her_ _about, during your precious Force sessions? All about your wretched life as the beloved only son of a princess and a hero? About your life on Chandrila, when you were doted on, given whatever you wanted? Worried about when you cried and raged and broke things? Oh, yes, your parents were very busy and they sent you to your uncle. Poor Ben. Did you make her believe that you were alone, that you had nobody, as if the twelve years I was by your side never existed?_

And I know he can feel me think it, so I keep my eyes locked on his before answering aloud.

“Sometimes,” I say. “Though I do most of the talking. He has something to say about his past, but I’m not the best one to listen to him, I think. And the two of you — you’re the only ones who really know what Snoke did to you, what that was like.”

“So you think Hux and I should, I don’t know, get together over some drinks and talk.”

“Maybe?”

“Mira, we have a galaxy to run.”

“And _that’s_ why it’s so important! If this is to work — the three of us, ruling — then there has to be more than just an understanding between us. That’s not going to happen if you two continue to pretend like you hate each other.” I sigh. “You hate him because he’s seen you weak, because he succeeded if you failed. But that was Snoke, that was what _he_ did. Don’t carry on with the dynamic for your relationship that Snoke made.”

Unexpectedly, he smiles.

“What?” I ask.

He starts to speak, and then his face goes slack, as he realizes what he was thinking. “You remind me so much of her when you’re like this… of Leia Organa.” And with a candidness that startles me, he adds, “I wish she had understood me the way you do. I think she decided long ago that she loves the idea of the son I used to be, but I’m worth sacrificing for her ideals.”

“I’m sorry,” is all I can think of to say.

“Don’t be,” he says. “I obviously… with what has happened — my mind is going to take me there.”

I nod. “Come sit with me, please,” I say.

He stands, and I watch his height unfold with a stirring of pride in what is mine. When he sits, I lean into him and put my arms around his waist. I listen to his heartbeat and he puts his lips against my hair.

I feel him wondering — about Hux, about me, so I say, “Don’t ever think, Ben, that you’re not the most important person in the galaxy to me.”

He doesn’t answer. I want to say more, but the timing seems all wrong. And then my door chimes. We both straighten. Ben brushes the rumples out of his shirt.

It’s Hux and a protocol droid, both bearing breakfast trays, for all that it’s past noon. Unlike Ben and me, he’s perfectly decked out in his uniform, and he frowns when he sees us. I gesture for the droid to put my tray on the coffee table, and Hux does the same with his.

“I thought we shouldn’t lose any time, what with the late start in the day,” Hux says, sitting in an armchair. He pours his tea and starts spooning sugar into it.

“Very efficient,” I say, smiling, as I hungrily snatch a pastry from my tray.

He takes a sip of his tea. “Now — first thing. What have we done with the children?”

“They’re here,” Ben says. “The compound has a boarding school of sorts, and they’re being taken care of there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say. “I would have had Hans and Sven take Allegra there, so she could see them.”

“We’re keeping them separated for now,” Ben says. “Vrey is speaking to each of them, and we don’t want them to influence each other.”

“But, Ben, they’re _kids_. They’re probably scared out of their minds. And… if they’re all like Allegra….”

I meet his eyes and he nods.

“They are,” he says.

“Suns,” I murmur.

“Don’t tell me,” Hux says. “They’re more of you two.”

“The Church of the Force is kidnapping Force-sensitive children,” I say.

We’re all silent for a moment.

“I can only imagine for what purpose,” Hux says. “Soldiers for an uprising, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” I say, “We can be sure they're indoctrinating them. But let’s remember that they’re children, first of all.”

Ben rubs his palms against his knees. “They seem to have taken to Vrey once she was out of her armor. She’s their sole contact right now — they haven’t seen anyone else.”

“Playing nursemaid is not the best use of a trained officer like Vrey’s time,” Hux says sourly.

“She’s gathering intel,” Ben says. “It’s best not to bring in more people.”

Hux nods, offering no argument.

“What about the old woman?” I ask.

“Oh, she’s fine,” says Ben. “She’s in the holding facility here.”

“I’ll have Vrey question her after the children,” Hux says, “and then we’ll likely press formal charges on her for trafficking and terrorism.”

“There might be more than just these five children,” I say. “Maybe I should go speak to Vrey. We need to know — how is the Church finding them? Where were they taking them? Were they establishing some kind of base here on Gaia?”

“Counselor,” Hux says, calmly, evening his tone in response to my rising anxiety, “Vrey is one of _my_ officers. She is well-trained in interrogation and will get answers.”

He’s trying to reassure me, but his calmness unnerves me. I think of the faces of the children in Vrey’s bodycam vid, of how different the path their Force sensitivity put them on is from what mine and Ben’s was.

I glance over at Ben, who is feeling some of the same anxiety as I am, and it’s as if we’re both nine years old again, the way we were when we stood in front of Luke Skywalker, my first day at the Temple. I wasn’t exactly afraid, but the awe I felt in the presence of the Jedi master had rendered me very still and silent. I sensed some of the same feeling from the tall, skinny boy with a mop of wavy black hair who stood next to me, for all that Luke was his uncle and he had been at the Temple for some time already. We glanced at each other. He was the first child like me I’d ever met. I smiled, and he blushed and ducked his head.

And from that moment on, we were Mira and Ben. Luke encouraged our friendship, knowing that his nephew was usually solitary and silent. And Ben still was, when I wasn’t with him. Were any of the kids being held in the Senate compound now like Ben? Did they need someone to keep them from falling away into the Dark?

“Mira,” Ben says.

I snap out of my thoughts and raise worried eyes to him. I see the boy he was. But I also see the man he is now. These children — can it be good for them to be near Kylo Ren? Will they sense what he is?

“Nobody is going to hurt them,” Ben says. “We need to move on to the next item of business.”

I breathe in deeply and nod. “All right.”

“There’s the matter of Madame Sten’s droid. I reviewed your conversation with Madame Sten and spoke to the droid last night. Everything about what you were told is confirmed.”

“And the trigger, from my lightsaber?”

“Resonant frequency hypno-imprinting. She was able to pick up on your kyber crystal’s frequency when she came to my quarters with Madame Sten for fittings.”

 _The new suit I convinced him to get_ , I realize.

“And she used that frequency to imprint instructions on the stormtroopers in your honor guard.”

“Oh,” I say. I think back to constructing my lightsaber, learning the resonant frequency of my kyber crystal’s hum to properly calibrate it.

Hux’s attention is piqued at this. “Well, that _is_ clever,” he says. “For a droid. I'll have to examine this one.”

“You’ve met her before,” I say.

He furrows his brow. “Well, then I must do so again. Her skills may be useful.”

“Next subject —” Ben says abruptly — “the pharmaceutical contacts.”

I close my eyes. I compose myself. I am the Chief Counselor to the Supreme Leader of the First Order, I remind myself. “Yes. I heard something promising from Kirgalis, but I had to ask Hux’s advice about —”

“Kirgalis?” Ben says. “The one run by the Khommites, in the Outer Rim.”

“That’s the one,” I say. “Armitage, did Vane reply to our letter?”

Hux hesitates. “Yes,” he says, “but I’m afraid he has proven… inflexible.”

Ben’s eyes move between us, and he frowns. “What are you two hiding from me?” he says.

“The contact — Petrokis Vane — told us that he may have information about the drug, but he will only tell _you_. In person,” I say.

Ben sighs. “We don’t have time to go to another Outer Rim world. Forward me the correspondence. I can make him more tractable.”

“Ben,” I say. “It’s not just that he’s not cooperating. He’s not in the Outer Rim. He’s on Byss.”

“Mira, you’re not making any sense. Byss _is_ —” And then he realizes. “The _other_ Byss. In the Deep Core.”

“Yeah,” I say.

He sighs. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t just about one particular drug,” Hux chimes in, helpfully being the General since the Supreme Leader and Chief Counselor have apparently reached the end of their insights. “If Snoke had secret bioresearch going on, I’m certain there were more projects — experiments, possibly. Do you remember, Ren, how we wondered what the Praetorian Guard were, under their armor? Something had to have been done to them. They weren’t _natural_ .” He pauses and twists his mouth. “We might have found out, after you and the girl killed them all, if the _Supremacy_ hadn’t blown up.”

Ben’s face goes still. “What do you mean, _me_ and the girl.”

Hux squares his jaw. “Oh, come off it, Ren. You didn’t really expect me to _believe_ that she fought off you, all eight of the Praetorian guards, _and_ killed Snoke, do you? It’s about as believable as Miranda telling me she found Millie _lurking in the hallway_.” He smirks at me and then turns back to Ben. “Anyway, it was a fine bluff, using her to aid your ascent to Supreme Leader, though it might have gone better if you’d managed to kill her, too. What’s strange to me, is that she incapacitated you, but she let you live.”

“A disappointment for you, I know,” Ben answers.

“Well, obviously,” Hux says, “or I wouldn’t have been plotting to kill you. That’s how all this started, remember?”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ben says. “Do you want me to tell you how your little plot got knocked off the rails so _easily_?”

“I’m certainly curious,” Hux replies, unruffled.

Ben looks at me expectantly. My mouth is full of pastry and I’m pouring myself a cup of tea.

“You tell him,” I say after I finally swallow the pastry. I take a sip of tea. “You two obviously need to speak to each other. I’ll go to the other room to get some work done.”

Both their faces register alarm as I stand and cross the room, carrying my tea with me. I don’t look back at them until I am in the bedroom, when I turn to face them, smile, and then Force-close the doors between us.

* * *

I hear their voices rising and falling through the door as I flop down on my bed and call up the holoscreen to watch the latest episode of _Galaxy Insider_. As I expected, they’re focusing obsessively on the image of Ben and me being, as Hux put it, “besotted adolescents.”

“ _Is this surprise visit to Gaia’s planetary capital a diplomatic mission, as official First Order statements call it? Or could it be that the Supreme Leader and Lady Ren have chosen the lovely mountain retreat for more personal reasons? They certainly seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, though they took time to visit Gaia’s famous statue in the Senate and speak to the planet’s ambassadors._ ”

The images shift from Ben and me, to Ben standing at the base of the statue, before he reached out to touch the lightsaber, to all three of us greeting the ambassadors. Then it shows the image of Hux and me.

 _“Chief Counselor Galan” —_ I smile in relief as they finally use my real name and title — _“and top First Order General Armitage Hux also shared a moment of camaraderie at the Gaian Senate Palace, but we can only speculate on what lessons all three visitors took from the monument to liberty and democracy.”_

It ends on rather a lower note than I’d hoped, but the anticipation of change is there.

_“After the break! Our fashion expert, Gaia’s own Vice Ganda, weighs in on Lady Ren’s Gaian Senate Palace look! What is the secret meaning of her flower-embroidered gown? Stay with us to find out!”_

“Ooh, Vice Ganda!” I exclaim without meaning to. I skip the commercials for face creams and cheap glamour droids.

Vice Ganda, a brown-skinned man with impeccable makeup and dyed-pastel hair coiffed into a towering pompadour, proclaims my Gaian Senate look a success, but he thinks I should wear less black.

“ _Less black?”_ says the host, laughing. _“Remember, this is the First Order we’re talking about.”_

 _“Well, why not shake things up?”_ Vice says in his distinctive accent. My mother said that my grandmother had the same one. _“And with this look — see, she has that pop of color on the hem. Now, I did not know this until today, but those flowers — they are called ‘Golden Poppies.’”_

 _“Golden poppies?”_ the host of _Galaxy Insider_ needlessly interjects.

 _“Yessss! Golden poppies! They are the the official flower of a region on Gaia, but it is not where the capital is! Anya —”_ Anya is the host — “ _I think this is a clue! You must follow it up because we want to know more about this Lady Ren! She looks like one of my people, you know — the most beautiful people on Gaia. They say she is from Tatooine, but people from Tatooine do not look like_ that _!_ ”

They both laugh at Tatooine’s expense, and so do I, in spite of myself. This is all very amusing, and I’m flattered that my favorite holo personality likes my dress, but when they see my lightsaber — _that’s_ when it’s going to be fun. Still… I twist my mouth. I don’t want them to know _too_ much about my life on Gaia.

On the show they’ve moved on to discussing my hair — _“Too stiff!”_ Vice Ganda proclaims. _“Too much like at that ceremony! I want to see what her hair really looks like”_ — and makeup now, discussing which products to use to reproduce the gold-dusted effect that the cameras captured very well.

When the episode is over, I call Petra.

She appears concerned but pleased to see me. “Captain Peavey just briefed me on the attack at the Senate after the call from the Supreme Leader and General Hux,” she says, “Are you all right?”

 _Oh, so those two have been doing something useful_ , I think.

“I’m fine, Petra. Is the _Finalizer_ much the same?”

“Getting back to her old self, now that the lockdown has been partially lifted. The officers are grateful to be back to their work, and stormtrooper training has begun again.”

“Officers?” I ask. “What about Petty Officer Thanisson?”

“Thanisson?” Petra looks down at the datapad in her hand and makes a few taps. “Oh! He’s been assigned to special projects in… sublevel 36? I don’t know what that is, ma’am.”

“Neither do I,” I say. “But I can guess.”

Petra’s eyes widen slightly as she realizes what I mean. “Is he — I shouldn’t ask, but is he the one who —”

“You can ask,” I say, “but I can’t answer.”

She nods, but doesn’t speak, apparently overcome with some kind of emotion. It’s fuzzy at this distance, but her relief is palpable, and something else — to do with Hux. Ah. It wouldn’t be the first time a junior officer had a crush on a General.

“General Hux is well,” I say, and her expression briefly turns to panic as she realizes that I know something of what she’s feeling. “I think he‘s quite safe now.”

“Thank you for telling me, ma’am,” she says, casting her eyes down.

“Now, Petra, I need to ask a favor of you.”

“Yes?”

“I think the media is close to figuring out where I was living the last eight years — and they may get close enough to figure out the identity I’d assumed.”

“You had… an assumed identity?”

“Yes, well, it’s a long story. But if they _do_ figure it out, so might certain people I knew when I was living under that identity. Can the First Order monitor communications to media outlets?”

She pauses. “Yes, the Ministry of Propaganda has a department devoted to information control.”

“Good. Have them monitor for my name, ‘Lady Ren,’ or the name ‘Isobel Esch.’” I spell it for her. “Especially from people on Gaia — though some of them might just know the first name. If they approach the media with information about me, I need to have that quashed.”

“Quashed? By what means?”

“Oh! Nothing violent. Disrupt communications — whatever the Prop Min usually does in such situations. And have them drop some hints to the media that I might be amenable to interviews with _reputable_ outlets. That’ll be understood, I think.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perfect!” I say, breezing past my compunctions about manipulating the media. I am not ashamed of my past, and there are many worlds in the galaxy where my sexual history would be nothing shameful — even admirable in some places. But I don’t think the First Order will view it that way, and, what’s more, I don’t like the thought of men becoming famous just for having shared my bed for a couple of nights.

“Thank you, Petra,” I say. “Now, is there anything I can do for you? I’m a bit housebound in the Senate Palace, but if there’s anything I can bring back to you or —”

“Yes, Miranda — can you…” She hesitates after interrupting and breathes deeply, as if mustering courage. “Will you please give my regards to General Hux?”

I’m puzzled. If Hux has spoken to Petra in the past few months about anything but my schedule, it would be a surprise to me. But, then, he is a family friend. I tell her I will relay her message, and then close the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This decadent bitch, so casually watching a TV show about herself, directing her assistant to interfere with the free press, and making her boyfriends fight while staying in a literal palace.
> 
> Vice Ganda is a real media personality in the Philippines! His name is made to be in the Star Wars universe, so I decided to do the right thing. I don’t speak or understand Tagalog, but I still enjoy watching clips of his show online.
> 
> Next chapter: Mira meets the children, interrogation reveals a Resistance plan, and the Absolution awaits.


	44. How You Took a Child and You Made Him Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira meets the Force-sensitive children and learns something about the Church of the Force’s plans for them. And then… the Absolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Reel Around the Fountain” by The Smiths

**_The Planetary Capital, Gaia, Early Fall, 36 ABY  
_ ** **_The_ Absolution _, Over Gaia, Standard Month 9, 36 ABY_**

I dress in civilian clothes and then crack open the door to my sitting room, where Ben and Hux are _discussing_ matters in an animated way that isn’t _quite_ arguing.

“Well, what are we going to _do_ then, Ren?” Hux is saying. “Your dear long-lost granny _tried to have me killed_.”

“Because _you_ tried to have _me_ killed, remember,” Ben answers.

“So, shall we chalk it up to ‘these things happen’ and call it a draw?”

Ben sits back in the armchair and pushes his hair off his face. It flops back exactly as it was before. “Maybe? What the fuck else is there to do?”

Hux laughs softly and shakes his head. “I suppose if we started being consistent about the repercussions of plotting to kill First Order leadership, we’d place ourselves in tenuous positions.”

I try to sneak to the suite’s door to the hall, but Hux spots me and stands. Ben, who knew I was there all along, reaches back and grabs ahold of the skirt of my dress, then turns and gives me a half-smile.

“Not to mention the Chief Counselor,” Ben adds. “She was ready to kill you, too, if necessary.”

 _And look at us now,_ I think.

“I saw that Officer Thanisson has been assigned some interesting new quarters,” I say, to change the subject.

“Ah, yes. We got the vid proof of him talking to LZ-87,” Hux says. “He has no memory of it, of course. A little psych reconditioning should about do the trick for him.”

“Tidy,” I say.

“Very.”

“Who’s going to be your aide-de-camp now, though?” I ask. “Lieutenant Mitaka seems a good choice.”

Hux looks skeptical. “Mitaka? He’s terrified of Ren.”

“Well, think about it,” I say. “I like him. Oh! Speaking of aides, Officer Sloane asked me to give you her regards. Don’t think of stealing her from me, though.”

Hux is still for a split second, and then nods. “No, of course not. I know how much you value her work as your aide. Thank you for telling me, Counselor.”

I feel him mentally retreating from the subject of Petra Sloane. He must know about her feelings for him — probably some lingering childhood crush. Silly, awkward man.

“Well,” I say, trying to move on, but Ben winds the fabric of my dress around his hand and pulls me toward him.

“Where are you off to?” he asks.

“I’m going to see the kids,” I say. “And to talk to Vrey about what they told her.”

“Shall I go with you?” He starts to stand, but I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Ben, maybe stay here? They’re already scared, and you’re, well….”

“Rather large and scary?” Hux finishes for me.

I glare at him.

“Like Ben said, introducing them to one new person at a time is better for them,” I say. “And I want them to know that they can trust me before we board the _Absolution_. I don’t want them to think they’re being stolen again.”

Ben nods and somewhere deep within him, a self-loathing begins to surface along with memories. I feel the edge of some of them — the screams, the terror running through me like the fire that consumed the Temple. But whose terror? I feel everyone’s fear at once — the students, all of them dead now, and Ben Solo’s, as he retreated in horror from what he’d done — what he never meant to do.

I grab hold of Ben’s hand that’s holding my skirt and his eyes meet mine. I jerk my dress free of his grasp, shaking my head to free it of his memories. He parts his lips, but I hurry from the room before he can speak.

* * *

One of the security droids escorts me across the compound to the onsite school, a graceful white building like the others. The living quarters are on the second floor, so different from the Temple dormitories where Ben and I spent our childhood and adolescence. The children are in separate rooms, each with two narrow but comfortable-looking beds, two desks, and two windows. There are three girls —Gemma, Sarai, and Kayta — and two boys — the twins Leo and Trist. Some of them don’t know their precise ages, but they all seem to be between six and ten. Gemma is the oldest, the age most students were when they came to the Temple. She’s serious and quiet, her brown hair worn in two braids, her hazel eyes set in a round face with pink-and-white skin.  Sarai, perhaps six years old, is brown-skinned, with black hair worn in tightly braided rows and luminous brown eyes. Kayta, who says she is seven, looks a bit like I did as a child, though her hair, which has been cropped into a short bob and bangs, is chestnut brown rather than black. Leo and Trist are cherubic boys of eight with sun-bleached white-blond hair, tanned skin, and clear blue eyes. They’re very distressed at being separated and ask for each other. All of the children have been scrubbed up, fed, and dressed in the uniforms that Senators’ children wear when they’re at school.

I meet with each child, play a couple of Force-use games with them with marbles that I found, and tell them a little about how to meditate to calm themselves down if they’re scared. They seem delighted to meet an adult who understands their abilities. Being with them, I understand Luke’s desire to teach, to nurture abilities and talents. How did it all go wrong? Someday, maybe, I’ll let Ben tell me.

Vrey has managed to learn the home planets of all of the kids. I speak to her in one of the school’s classrooms, which she’s using as an office. The desks have been pushed against the wall during the break, and, like the whole school, the room has the air of the Temple during holidays. Vrey, out of her helmet, has light red-brown hair that bounces in spiral curls, olive skin that is heavily freckled, a full, wide mouth, and amber-colored eyes. She’s a bit younger than Ben and me, perhaps, but she has the air of someone used to being in command. She tells me that the girls have families on Akiva and Pamarthe, but Leo and Trist say their parents died in a mining accident on Lothal.

“It sounds like the Church was scouring the Outer Rim for children,” I say. “But if their base was on Jakku — that would require resources.”

Vrey nods. “Yes, and that’s where the information I got out of the old woman comes in.”

“Ethra.”

“Yes. It was easy enough to get her to talk. According to her, the Resistance is funding their missions. The storage facility was the rendezvous point for their contact in the Resistance, who would pick up the children. But that mission was aborted when the Supreme Leader’s presence on Gaia was revealed. They were going to wait out your departure and then attempt contact again. She doesn’t know where the children would have been taken.”

I lick my lips. “Who is her contact in the Resistance?”

“She only knows a code name — Lightbringer.”

I frown. Not exactly subtle. It has to be the girl. She’s collecting Force-sensitive children. The name, though, is laced with an irony that is probably lost on an ignorant girl from a desert planet. In Gaian mythology, the Lightbringer is Lucifer — the beautiful angel corrupted by pride and transformed into a being of evil. I remember that I never did tell Ben the story of Satan tempting Christ in the wilderness.

“Are there any others in the cell?” I ask. “Besides the ones we killed.”

“No, Counselor. And the woman was very agitated about making me understand that the attack was not part of the cell’s orders. It seems they went rogue — saw what they thought was an opportunity and seized it.”

“And what about other cells?”

“She doesn’t know of any, which is standard for these terrorist cells — it keeps them from giving each other up. With what we know of the Resistance’s and the Church of the Force’s resources right now, I’d be surprised if there were more than one or two more, if any. But we will of course be monitoring all systems for the same kind of activity.”

I stand. “Thank you, Commander Vrey,” I say. “I will be seeing you on the _Absolution_ , I expect.”

She nods and rises. “Yes, Counselor. The Supreme Leader has told me that you’ll be overseeing my mission to return the children.”

“I look forward to working with you,” I say. “Oh — now that we’ve both spoken to them, let’s have the children see each other, maybe let them play outside if it’s secure? It’ll be a huge comfort for them. I’ll have Allegra brought to join them.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

I trot back through the garden to the residence building, the security droid skittering on gravel paths to keep up with me. I come across Sven and Allegra watching butterflies and tell him to take her to the school. Her face lights up when she hears she’ll see her friends again. She’s dressed in a school uniform, too, with white knee socks, a burgundy skirt, and a white blouse. I blow her a kiss as she walks away, and continue on to the residence.

As I walk into the foyer, I see that the four ambassadors are there, speaking to a very annoyed Supreme Leader.

“...nothing _for_ us to discuss,” Ben is saying. “Gaia has broken faith with the First Order by harboring _terrorists_. You’re lucky you’re getting off with the simple expectation that you will fix your own problems.”

He looks up and sees me. The ambassadors follow his gaze. They look suitably intimidated, even Frenhull, but Ambassador Tigue smiles at me anyway.

“Ah, Counselor, I’m glad you’re here,” Ben says. “We have that matter to discuss with General Hux.”

 _Just go with it_ , he thinks to me.

“Yes, I was just heading up to to speak with him now,” I say. I turn to the ambassadors. “The staff has done a wonderful job accommodating the children.”

I nod at them, and they hurriedly exit the building with murmurs of farewell.

“Remind me to send other people on missions like this in the future,” Ben tells me after they leave. “I didn’t think being Supreme Leader would involve _talking to people_ so much.”

I don’t answer.

“Mira,” he says. “What you felt, earlier — I’ve been wanting to tell you —”

“No,” I say. “It’s not the time. There’s something else.”

He looks at me, noticing my anxiety. “What is it.”

“The children — the Resistance is paying the Church to find them.”

He nods, swallows. “And?”

“And the Church’s contact in the Resistance is somebody codenamed Lightbringer.”

He looks at me silently, blinking quickly, and then casts his eyes down.

“That’s _her_ , isn’t it?” I say. “The girl.”

He nods. “It has to be.”

“Force sensitive children for the Resistance. The Jedi Order, starting all over again.” I turn and take my hands in mine. “I have a terrible feeling about it. She’s completely inexperienced. What happened to Anakin, what happened to you — we can’t let it happen again.”

“We won’t,” he says.

In the set of his jaw, the force of his gaze, I feel the voices that haunt him — not just those from our Temple, but from one before it, when the lightsaber was not in Ben’s hand, but his grandfather’s.

“Ben,” I say. “How long have you —”

He takes my hand, closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply. A shudder passes through his body. He turns and cups my face in his his hands, his fingertips burrowing through my hair, his palms on my cheeks.

“Don’t let them in, do you hear me?” His speaks as if struggling against some power that is holding him back. “I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you become what I am.”

“Ben,” I say, putting my hands on his.

“No,” he says. “You have to promise me. Promise me that you won’t go looking for those voices.”

“I promise!” I say. “I wasn’t trying — I just heard them, and —”

He groans and lowers his hands, bending his tall frame to touch his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault — I let them get to you. I should have been stronger.”

“I’m strong enough,” I say. “Strong enough to carry some of your burden.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t ask that of you. Mira, I can’t help holding on. Or the past won’t stop holding on to me. Not just _my_ past — a past that doesn’t even belong to me. I haven’t felt it in so long, but when — when I saw _her_ , my grandmother, they started up again.”

“Anakin Skywalker’s memories,” I say.

“Yes.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face in his chest. He embraces me and we stand in the marble expanse of the residence foyer, breathing together, our minds seeking out the light.

Finally, he sighs and releases me.

“We have to leave,” he says.

* * *

We’re ready to board the _Absolution_ by sunset. Hux gives a farewell speech to the Senate Palace staff, much shorter than the one he gave when we arrived, with a reminder that they were being entrusted with the responsibility of keeping confidential everything they have seen or heard about during our stay. A warning as much as a reminder, really.

Ben goes to the bridge of the shuttle, but the rest of us crowd together in back, shoulder-to-shoulder, swaying as we lift off. I sit with the children, holding the hands of the two smallest ones, the girls Sarai and Kayta, while Commander Vrey looks after Gemma, Leo, and Trist. Across from me, Hux looks like the general he is — ramrod straight spine and squared jaw. Allegra sits next to him, her attempt to look just as serious as Hux hampered by her interest in Millie, who is in her carrier at Hux’s feet. Allegra has become Hux’s shadow, much to the entertainment of Vrey and the stormtroopers, who do all they can to hide their amusement. I’m the only one who can see the look in Hux’s eyes that tells me he is mentally preparing to board a ship that is a vessel for some kind of torment for him.

 _Sumptuous family quarters_ , Ben said. Is this ship where Hux spent his childhood after leaving Arkanis, then? A floating mansion, drifting through the Unknown Regions, packed with children who were being trained to be killers. I hold on more firmly to the girls’ hands and send them comfort through the Force. They settle into me, their fingers squeezing my hand tighter.

The _Absolution’s_ hangar is identical to the _Finalizer’s_ , vast and shiny, with TIEs docked neatly in rows on the walls and officers moving through with clipped marches. The one difference, though, are the cadets — boys and girls in black uniforms and white helmets, marching behind their trainers in perfect formation, looking for all the galaxy like they are already the soldiers they’re being turned into.

As before, the bustle comes to a standstill as everyone stops and salutes the Supreme Leader and General Hux, as everyone studies me and exchanges glances. The children crowd close around me and Vrey, except for Allegra, who is walking at Hux’s side, her small hands grasped behind her back in mimicry of his posture.

Vrey collects the children when we reach the turbolifts. “General Hux has had quarters prepared for them in the visiting dignitaries’ suites,” she says. “Some of the younger junior officers have been assigned to look after them.”

I nod and kneel down to explain to the children where they’re going, assuring them that I’ll come to see them soon.

“Can’t I stay with General Hugs?” Allegra asks.

“The General has a lot of boring General stuff to do,” I say. “But he’ll come to see you later, too.”

Vrey leads the children to a turbolift as Hux, Ben, and I board the one that goes to the living quarters. We are silent, looking at the doors of the lift as if we’re strangers. Hux fiddles with the cuff of his greatcoat, brushes his fingers over the ribbon of his rank stripes. When the lift stops, he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, his nostrils flaring.

The doors open, and we walk out into a purple-carpeted, silver-edged expanse that puts the bohemian luxury of my quarters on the _Finalizer_ to shame. The space is lit up with minimalist crystal chandeliers, with tastefully arranged sleek furniture, immaculate and severe, the walls hung with abstract art. There’s a black grand piano conspicuously occupying a space near the huge window. The room is round, with hallways leading away from it on either side. A protocol droid, its case shiny and black, ambles out of one of the hallways over to us.

“By the Maker!” the droid intones, throwing up her arms. “Is that you, Master Armitage?”

“Yes, Kayfour,” Hux says, self-consciously glancing at Ben and me. “It’s me.”

“Oh, what a blessed day! I always hoped, but now here you are, where you belong,” K4 says. “Welcome home, Master Armitage!”

Ben and I exchange looks. The droid has the demeanor of one whose service has been neglected — gone a bit strange.

Hux presses his lips tightly together. “Yes, well,” he says. He closes his hands, opens them. “I’ll be in my quarters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Phasma novel, Hux is so completely cool and collected aboard the Absolution, but that’s only from the perspective of the POV character, Cardinal. I have different ideas about what his relationship with the ship is.
> 
> Next chapter: Ben has something to tell Mira.


	45. Every Little Piece of Your Life Will Add Up to One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben finally tells Mira what happened that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “The Weight of the World” by Editors

**The Absolution _, Over Gaia, Standard Month 9, 36 ABY_**

K4 shows Ben and me to our quarters, which apparently we are sharing. Hux arranged the accommodations, and I don’t know if he’s trying to make some kind of statement. Ben and I have been scrupulous about keeping our living quarters separate when we’re in our official roles, though at this point the appearances we were trying to keep up are an obvious pretense.

I’m not sure why I’m so fixated on it, but I suppose that, like Ben’s thoughts about his grandparents, Padmé’s appearance has set my thoughts along certain lines. Her apparent belief in the inevitability of our relationship becoming something permanent, part of a legacy that began with the Chosen One himself — well, it’s a lot. This has been both the most serious and fastest-moving relationship I’ve ever been in.

 _Fastest-moving, Mira?_ I say to myself. _Only more than twenty years in the making._

So here we are, sharing quarters, and if the _Absolution_ is anything like the _Finalizer_ , this is already a subject of gossip. Lord and Lady Ren, inhabiting the Royal Quarters.

It is one room, though a large one with a sitting area as well as a large bed, mostly purple in its color scheme, with dove gray complementing it.

“Purple is the color of Empire,” I say to Ben, sitting on a low sofa as I take off my boots. “At least in some of Gaian history. I’ll have to tell Hux more about Julius Caesar.”

Ben gives me a look that tells me he has no idea what I’m talking about. I went into hiding on Gaia and came out with a whole new culture. Well, Ben did the same — who knows what kind of Knights of Ren lore he has lurking in the labyrinthine part of his mind that I don’t enter.

“This was Hux’s room back when his father was alive,” he says, poking at the black paneling on the wall, searching for bugs, no doubt. “He’s in his father’s suite.”

“Shouldn’t he have given that to you?” I ask.

Ben shrugs. “It’s his family quarters, and it was his ship before the _Finalizer_. In a way, it’s still his ship.”

He moves methodically through the room, scanning with his eyes, feeling with his hands along the undersides of tables, opening drawers.

“You should get a droid to do this for you,” I say. “Your own droid.”

“I don’t like droids,” he says.

I sit down on the bed with a sigh, and he looks at me, worried. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I say. “Strangely, all that activity, the… skirmish, I suppose? seems to have done the trick. And being with the children — showing them a little how to use their powers.” I lean back on the headboard and toss a cushion to rest my feet on. “What is going to happen to them after we give them back to their parents?”

“That’s their parents’ concern,” he says.

“Maybe some of them _wanted_ their kids to become Jedi. They thought they were sending them off to school, just like ours did.”

“Our parents _thought_ ,” he says, sitting down at the edge of the bed, his back to me.

“I learned a lot. So did you.”

“Oh yes, it was quite the lesson my Uncle Luke taught me.” His voice is dark; his mood, without the blunted edge of cynical sarcasm, is darker.

I push aside the question of what happened at the Temple.

“You don’t like this ship either,” I say instead. “What happened here?”

“This is where Hux and I first met,” he says. “It’s where all the stormtrooper training for the younger cadets took place, before they graduated to the _Finalizer_ to finish training.”

He’s avoiding answering my question, but I don’t press it. “I never noticed any cadets on the _Finalizer_.”

“There aren’t any, anymore. They’ve all been relocated back here, under a new captain that Hux selected.”

“Who is that?” I ask, puzzled as to why he’s reciting this history to me.

“One of my Knights, though Hux doesn’t know that.” He turns slightly toward me. “Hux thinks she’s another stormtrooper raised through the ranks. I had her records fabricated, and even Hux can’t keep track of every stormtrooper. It was easy enough to put her in his path and get him to appoint her to the position.”

“The Knights of Ren,” I say, tucking my feet under me and kneeling. “They’re here?”

“No, just her. But I’m telling you this so that if you see her, it won’t be a shock.” I stare hard at him and he avoids my eyes. “Do you remember what I told you at the party in Bonny Doon?”

I strain to recall. I remember the smoke, the hazy room, my thoughts melting into each other, my body melting into his as I nestled against him. There was something — I remember my eyes the next morning, trying to remind me.

“No,” I say. “I’m sorry, I was too stoned. And drunk.”

He sighs. “I thought as much. Mira, what I told you was that you’re not the only one left.”

“Not the only what,” I say, knowing the answer even as I say it, my lips and hands going numb.

“Leia lied to you — I don’t know why — when she said everyone was dead. Maybe Luke lied to her. They’re not.”

I still can’t comprehend what he’s telling me.

“Asha,” he says. “Asha is here.”

I freeze, trembling, then slide off the bed and stand on wobbly legs.

“Asha?” I say, stupidly. _Asha of the tiny feet, Asha of the beautiful Naboo accent. Asha, my friend._

I walk over to him so I’m standing in front of him, seeing his face. He looks up and smiles, but it fades immediately when he sees my expression. I shake my hands to get the blood flowing back into them.

“She knows you’re here, and she really wants to see you again —”

And I punch him. A left hook, squarely on his beautiful, pouting mouth. He reels only slightly from the blow, but when he turns his face back to me, he’s wiping blood from his lip. I look down at my hand, which is cut where I caught one of his teeth on my knuckles. The blood runs down my fingers and drips onto the purple carpet.

“Mira, what the _fuck_ ,” he whispers.

“You’re asking me _what the fuck?_ ” I hiss back. “You turned my friend into a killer and you’re acting like I should _thank_ you?”

Shock is working its way through my limbs, and my legs buckle. I sit in a heap on the floor before Ben can catch me, even with the Force.

“Wait, Ben —” I start. “Is Asha the only one?”

He shakes his head. “Silla, too. And Antonis and Lamia.”

“ _Lamia?”_ I say. Little, dreamy Lamia, only sixteen years old when I left the Temple. “You made her a Knight of Ren. How? She was full of light.”

“Snoke had his methods,” he says, looking at me with hard eyes, his jaw clenched. “I gave them a choice. They chose to come with me.”

“A choice between _what?_ ” I ask. “Between that or death? Being cut down by your lightsaber?”

His face goes white. He starts to speak and then silences himself.

“What is it,” I say.

“I’m willing to tell you this,” he says, “but only if you’re ready to hear it.”

I look down at my hands, which I’ve placed in my lap, the bloody one on top.  I am sitting on the floor as we did as padawans when we were ready to receive a lesson, I realize.

“I suppose I have to be ready,” I say.

Ben closes his eyes, breathes in, shudders slightly.

He tells me how it began, with Snoke, who had been watching him since even before the night we sneaked out of the Temple. His whole life. Snoke was watching me, too, that night, but it was Ben he wanted — the Skywalker with the dark vein running through him, who was so strong in the Force that his power seemed to pour from his fingertips, his eyes, his mouth when he chose to speak. Snoke had been laying traps for years, insinuating himself into circles so he would cross paths with the young son of the senator, making a show of taking an interest in the young Jedi’s education. That night, he saw in me a means of manipulation.

“It was good that you left when you did, Mira,” Ben says quietly, staring at his bare feet — he’s taken his shoes off in deference to my rule about shoes in living spaces. “I’m certain he was planning to hurt you, to kill you most likely, in order to open me to the dark side even more. But instead, he just convinced me that you abandoned me, that you didn’t care what happened to me. Maybe his plan was to have _me_ kill you eventually, out of spite. I don't know.”

The anger begins to rise in me. I push it down, knowing that it will make it harder for Ben to tell his story. I sit perfectly still. I fill myself with compassion for Ben Solo — as he sits before me now, and the lonely young man he was then.

“The thoughts — you remember how they were — became almost unbearable. Snoke told me it was because I was fighting my own power, that if I just did what I knew I was capable of, the thoughts would stop — that they were telling me what I _needed_ to do. But I didn’t want to… do the things in those thoughts.”

He shifts and looks up at me, raising only his eyes. “But you know what that’s like. That was my fault, pushing you use your power. It’s just that — you’re more powerful than you think, Mira. You’ve never let yourself believe it.”

I take in a deep breath. “Is there more? You don’t have to if it’s too much —”

“No, I have to,” he says. He squeezes his eyes closed for a second, taps his palms against his knees twice, bites his lip. “And then one night — it was almost two years since you left, and I hadn’t heard from you —”

“Wait, what?” I say. “I sent you messages, holos, and _I_ never heard back.”

We’re silent for a moment, and then realize as our eyes meet again: _Snoke_. We both sigh. Our lives, bent into what they are by so much unseen manipulation. I lean a little closer to him, but we’re still separate — each in our own space for this story that he’s waited so long to tell me, that I haven’t wanted to hear.

“One night,” he says again, “I woke up — I was having one of those dreams, the dark side dreams — you remember —and Luke was in the room with me.”

And so he tells me — the terrifying moment when he thought his uncle was going to kill him, his lightsaber, the blue one I remember, summoned to meet the blow.

“I don’t know now — I think my memory has skewed it, and Snoke made me repeat it over and over because it hurt me so much to — but when our blades met — it’s almost as if both of us were attacking and blocking at the same time.” He leans his elbows on his knees and presses his fingers to his closed eyes, then speaks in a muffled, halting voice. “He thought I was going to kill him, I thought he was going to kill me. But I — I pulled the roof down on him. I ran outside, and some of the others were coming out already — they heard the crash. And I — I panicked. I remember all I kept thinking is _They’re right, I am a monster._ ” He clenches his jaw. “I was screaming at them to stay away because I could feel it rising in me — that rage, that darkness. But they didn’t stay away — and so I pushed them away — too hard — and then they came at me — with their lightsabers — and I — I fought back. And you know — Ben Solo, so strong in the Force, always the one to best in sparring — and always holding back. Nobody knew how much — maybe you did — but I couldn’t hold back, it was just too much, like the rage propelled me. Not that I didn’t make choices, but — I don’t know — so many years of holding back, holding back, and then — it just all… all….” He holds his head in his hands. “It just all came out, and I killed them. Every one.”

I inch closer to him, hesitating as I try to feel out if he wants me closer, if he wants me to touch him. His emotions are a roiling, churning mass that I can’t penetrate. I put my hand lightly on his arm, just one of my fingers worked under the cuff of his glove, which he hasn’t yet taken off, on the bare skin of his wrist.

I want to tell him, with this gesture, _I’m not going to push you away. I’m here. I’ll stay here._

He looks up, his dry, red-rimmed eyes meeting mine, and nods. “All right,” he says, and then breathes in. “All right.”

He sits up again and moves to take off his gloves. I shift my weight back onto my heels again and put my hands in my lap, still kneeling at his feet.

“Not everybody had come out yet,” he says. “I was just going to leave them, run away, but then — the fire — I’m not sure how it started, sometime during the fight — but you know the roofs — all the wood beams — it spread so fast. And the four of them — Asha, Silla, Antonis, Lamia — they were the only ones who made it out. They were all hurt — burnt — too hurt to fight. They didn’t know what happened. So they were calling to me — _Ben!_ So relieved, you know, like seeing me gave them hope that they’d live.” He blinks quickly with the memory, then sits up straighter. “I knew there was only one person I could go to, after I did what I did.”

“Snoke,” I whisper.

He nods. “I told them to come with me, that I could get them medical help, that they could keep learning, become stronger in the Force. Or they could stay.”

“And die, probably,” I say.

“Well, yes,” he says. “So they said they’d come with me. And Snoke took us to the First Order.”

“To the _Absolution_ ,” I say.

“Yes. And, later, to the _Supremacy_. But this ship is where I met Hux.”

I breathe in, and it catches in my throat.

“We didn’t exactly hate each other other from the start,” Ben says. “We recognized something in each other — something we shared. Desperation, maybe? To be seen as whole people. Hux had already killed his father, was already a general, already had proven himself — he thought — to the First Order and the Supreme Leader. But here I was, handpicked by Snoke to be his apprentice.” He grimaces. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen Hux do. You know about it, you feel it in him, but you never were there for it — the pleasure he takes in cruelty. That’s why I was afraid that he hurt you — after — after that. I don’t know if it’s something that has to be learned, but — I never enjoyed it, Mira — believe me — you have to believe, what I did — it was never because I liked it. “

He looks at me, his lips with the smear of dried blood, trembling.

“I believe you,” I say. “But you still did it.”

“Yes,” he says. “I did. And I live with those images in my head — but instead of them being the thoughts or the dreams, they’re real. Memories. And now — memories that aren’t even mine — my grandfather’s. It’s like some kind of warning — I think? I just don’t know.”

He pauses, considering, and then goes on. “But the memories after the Temple — they start with Hux.” His hands grip his knees. “Snoke set us against each other — Hux and me — from the start. A bastard son — use it, Snoke told me. He told me I am from a legacy of greatness, forged by the Force itself and Hux was nothing, a useful tool whose defects could be exploited. Snoke always drilled it into me — what Darth Vader was, his power, his lack of hesitation. But I was Snoke’s bear on a chain, and Hux was the dog snapping at me. Snoke encouraged me to be cruel to Hux, to hurt him any way I could. He told the same to Hux — and he hurt us both to show us how.”

“That’s why you both hate this ship.”

He ducks his head, nods, and then continues. “All the time, I was doing it because I told myself I had to, that it was who I am. And it was making me stronger. I thought if I got strong enough, if I used all the new pain to make me stronger — then the old pain wouldn’t hurt me anymore. But it still did. And so I knew what I had to do. The past had to die.”

I dip my head down toward my hands. Thick rivulets of blood run from my knuckles between my my fingers on my left hand. “Your father,” I whisper.

He nods, small mechanical movements, pressing his lips tighter.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say.

He rubs his hands against his knees. “Yeah… yeah. I think another time for that.” He laughs, silently, ironically, then looks at me. “Do you still hate me? Still hate Kylo Ren?”

“You’re not Kylo Ren,” I say.

He grits his teeth. “I am, Mira. What I’ve done — that is Kylo Ren. We are what we’ve done, not some secret essence inside of us.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But what you did before — who you were before — the boy who illustrated my poetry and whispered his secrets to me and watched the stars with me — that’s you too. And now — the man who is sharing the galaxy with me, entrusting me with what he treasures most. No, I don’t hate you.”

“The galaxy isn’t what I treasure most, though,” he says.

I am still sitting at his feet. I smile up at him. I put my hands out, palms up. He closes his around them. We look at each other.

“We’re everyone we ever were, all at the same time,” I say. “And now we’re trying to make whole people out of all those parts. It seems impossible sometimes.”

He tugs my hands to pull me to him. I put my cheek against his shoulder and then he gathers me to him, his arms encircling me as I draw my knees to my chest. It is as if I am cocooned. I wonder who I will be when I emerge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, I had Mira knowing that some of the students at the Temple went with Ben, but I went back and changed it when I realized what I wanted to do here.
> 
> I struggled with making a lot of the deaths something of an accident — I didn’t want to minimize what Ben did, make him more palatable for redemption. But… at the same time, I can completely see how it might have happened like this.
> 
> Next chapter: The children finally meet the Supreme Leader, and Mira sees Asha again.
> 
> We're winding down to the last few chapters! Thank you for sticking with it!


	46. How Words as Old as Sin Fit Me Like a Glove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Supreme Leader meets the Force-sensitive kids and it gets him thinking about the future. Mira is reunited with Asha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter is from “The Hand that Rocks the Cradle” by The Smiths

**_The_ Absolution _, Over Gaia, Standard Month 9, 36 ABY_**

The morning after we arrive on the _Absolution_ , we go to visit the kids, together this time. The same kind of gazes that followed us on the _Finalizer_ follow us here — except now those watching us know who I am, and know what I am to the Supreme Leader — and to the First Order. The prop vids of our visit to Gaia have already gotten heavy play in the mandatory morale sessions, and I know that contraband episodes of _Galaxy Insider_ make their way through the barracks. I wear my lightsaber at my hip now, too, but they have not yet seen me use it. That is part of the curiosity I feel as we move through the corridors and I nod at the troopers and officers who pause to stand at attention for the Supreme Leader.

We find Hux already in the dignitaries’ lounge with the children. He’s sitting on a sofa, Allegra glued to his side, and the other kids sit in chairs and on the floor listening to him talk. At his feet, the twins Leo and Trist gaze up at him with the fierce fascination of young boys who have found an idol. He’s regaling them with a story from his own childhood about flying down to Jakku in the midst of a battle and then escaping with his father into the Unknown Regions  — complete with expressive hand motions mimicking the crafts.

“I was five, younger than even the youngest ones of you,” he says, smiling at Sarai and Kayta. “And I was small for my age, too. I’ll tell you a secret — I was scared. But I had to be brave, just like you were brave when you were hiding on the other ship and on the shuttle up to the _Absolution_. So you’re going to keep being brave, aren’t you?”

The kids nod enthusiastically. Ah, Hux — ever the voice in the prop vids, motivating the troops. I walk over and put my fingertips on his shoulder to keep him from standing before sitting down next to him.

“Hello, Miss Miranda,” Allegra says, studying me, unsure about my First Order uniform and severe chignon. But I smile at her and she relaxes. “General Hugs said he grew up on this ship. If we can’t find my parents, can I live here too?”

“Let’s not think about not finding your parents,” I say. “I’m sure they’re very worried about you.”

“I’ve been thinking,” she says seriously. “They sent me away, so maybe they don’t want me.”

I feel the stab of recognition from Ben behind me. Allegra looks up as he approaches. He’s awkward, a large man trying to make himself seem less so. She draws back slightly, but her eyes stay on him. The other kids stare now too.

Gemma, the oldest, seems to feel it’s her place to ask what she knows the other children are thinking. “Are you Supreme Leader Kylo Ren?” she whispers.

Ben’s eyes dart away nervously. He Force-pulls over a chair, and then sits in it, collapsing his height and bulk and leaning his elbows on his knees, so his face is level with Gemma’s. I almost laugh at the corniness of it, but he did it for a reason, the same reason I played the Force-use marbles games with them. The kids smile delightedly.

“Yes, I am,” he says, not exactly smiling, but not exactly stern.

They look at each other. _Supreme Leader Kylo Ren_. They’ve been taught to fear him, but they see him now, a scarred young man with the same ability they have, and some of that fear lifts.

Hux, the attention of the kids off of him, turns toward me. There’s a strange look of contentment in his eyes, of being at ease, nothing like I expected after feeling his anxiety about the _Absolution._ I put my hand on his, wishing he weren’t wearing gloves — wanting some kind of contact with him after what Ben told me. He sees my knuckles, bandaged with a bacta strip, and looks at me questioningly. I just shake my head, but he takes my hand in his gloved one, raises it, and touches his lips lightly to it, then remembers himself and sets my hand back down on my lap.

The same thought as at the party in my bungalow passes through me. Here is a man who has been cruel, who has reveled in that cruelty, but who has never been cruel to me. I smile at him, but I wonder how I can.

Allegra watches us, wide-eyed, and then goes over to Ben, who is quietly speaking to the children, asking their names. They answer and watch him with rapt faces.

We leave after just a short time, when I see that Ben’s large frame is beginning to tremble. The children gather around me and hold my hands or put their arms around my waist as they say goodbye. My heart aches for them — they are so trusting, so eager for reassurance that their affection already pours out of them, warm and glowing in the Force.

But at the same time, the Chief Counselor whom I have become thinks, _This is what the First Order is to them now. They’ll tell the story of how the General, Chief Counselor, and Supreme Leader rescued them, played games with them, told them stories, treated them kindly._

Once we’re out in the shiny-black corridor, a door slides open as we walk by it and Ben does a quick side-step through it, pulling me with him. It’s some kind of supply closet, the shelves neatly stocked and labeled.

“You must be in dire need of mouse droid parts,” I say, trying to make light, but seeing his face, still and serious.

“I just needed some quiet,” he says, turning to me. “I didn’t want to walk past all that — all that _thinking_ yet.”

“I know seeing the kids is hard for you. It is for me, too.”

“When I was their age, Snoke had already gotten to me. His influence was already pushing me to the dark.”

I take his hands in mine and squeeze and he bends to touch his forehead to mine.

“How could he have done it?” he says. “I couldn’t do it, and you know what I am.”

“That’s true,” I say. “I _do_ know. There are some kinds of pain even Kylo Ren can’t inflict. And that Ben Solo never even could consider inflicting. The strength you had, Ben, to resist him for so long. I never understood before — and I think you still don’t.”

He leans farther over me and I tip my face up to kiss him. The sweetness, like the warm glow of the children’s presence in the Force, fills me. When we part from the kiss, Ben studies my face.

“Those rumors on the _Finalizer_ ,” he says. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”

I blink at him. “Ben, I’m not having this conversation in a supply closet.”

He smiles mischievously at me. “And you see how good Hux is with kids. He’d be a perfect babysitter. Better than a nanny droid.”

“Ben Solo, you need to shut up right now,” I say, holding back a laugh. “Your grandmother would be _elated_ , though, let me tell you.”

His smile grows contemplative. “My grandmother.”

“We’re going to see her soon.”

“We are.”

“Any idea of how that’s going to go?”

“None at all.”

“One reunion at a time, I suppose,” I say. “And the next one is with Asha.”

“You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.”

“But I do, Ben! I’ve missed her so much. I know she’ll have changed — of course she has — but besides you, she was my closest friend.”

“Remember what I said. Snoke had his methods to turn people. She’s not what I am, but she’s not who you remember. She’s scarred — in more ways than one.”

I nod. “But she wants to see me.”

“She does,” he says. “Are you ready now?”

“I am,” I say.

“I’ll have her come to our quarters,” he says.

I slide open the closet door with a gesture and we walk out, surprising two technicians who were about to enter. They step back in sudden horror when they realize who we are.

“Supreme Leader… ma’am,” one of them stammers, and they both manage to compose themselves well enough to stand at attention.

“Hello,” I say. “I think you’ll find everything in order in there.”

We sweep past, leaving them gaping after us. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“There’s a story for the canteen,” Ben says.

“Let no one ever say we don’t do our part for ship morale,” I answer.

And then I do laugh, startling the officers we pass by.

* * *

When I hear the door chime, it takes all my effort not to leap to my feet and answer, but I let K4 escort Asha into the lounge, not wanting to overwhelm her. Ben has made himself scarce, rejoining Hux to take care of getting the latest orders out for the impending occupation of Coruscant.

I stand when she walks in and see her: as tiny as I remember, her small frame in the black uniform of a non-commissioned officer, her tawny skin and fine hair almost the same color, her light brown eyes fringed with darker lashes. A scar from her burns, flesh gnarled and pink, runs along her jawline on the left side of her face, disappearing into the collar of her tunic.

She doesn’t smile when she sees me, but her eyes widen and she walks to me slowly, as if using the time to study me, to see in me the girl she knew. I, too, am dressed in my First Order garb, and to her I have become a figure in prop vids, a subject of gossip. Who am I to her now? Does she feel my presence in the Force as I feel hers — changed and yet so familiar?

She breathes in deeply. “Mira,” she says — the only person besides Ben to call me by that name in eight years.

And she crosses to me and throws her arms around me. I return her hug, the years seeming to fold and collapse as if we are once again the two girls who practiced forms in the Temple yard together and giggled under the blanket of our shared bed about Ben Solo’s beautiful eyes.

“Look at you!” she says when we part, both of us laughing through our tears as we hold each other’s hands. “You’re here, you’re really here!”

How could Ben say she’s changed as if she’s turned into some dark thing, with a shadow over her presence in the Force? She hasn’t. This is Asha’s voice, Asha’s touch. I know some of what the Knights of Ren did. Did she round up rebels and execute them? Did she assassinate the remaining Jedi and defected clone troopers? What have the hands that hold mine done? I try to imagine her small form in a black robe and mask.

“I thought you were dead,” I say.

“It’s not your fault,” she says. “The Light is made of lies.”

 _The Light is made of lies._ Ah, so this is Snoke’s indoctrination. It’s so strange to hear it, in Asha’s lilting, happy voice.  I think of Ben and me, meditating on the light to keep the dark at bay, my mantra — _There is a light, and it never goes out_. No, the light is not made of lies, but people lie in what they think is in service to the light. That is the difference. I will not lie for the light, nor will Ben. And we don’t have to lie for the dark; it speaks for itself.

I don’t say this to Asha, but she feels some of what I am thinking, anyway. She has grown stronger. As have I.

“The Force has taken us on very different paths to the same place, Mira,” she says. “Well, not _truly_ the same place — I always knew yours was by Master Ren’s side.”

_Master Ren._

“It could have never been like this if we were Jedi,” she says. “All those rules, all that repression.”

“I never knew you felt like that,” I say, gesturing for her to come sit on the sofa with me.

“I didn’t, not back then. It was only after, when I learned that there was a whole side of me I didn’t even know about, strength I have that I didn’t use.”

I nod. “I know what you mean.”

She looks at the room, her eyes roving over the sumptuous precision. “I’ve never been in here. It looks exactly like you’d expect General Hux’s quarters to look.”

“I hear you impressed him, enough to entrust his cadets to you.”

“Oh, yes, I worked quite closely with him to keep everything on track after Captain Phasma was lost with the _Supremacy_.”

 _Phasma_ — there’s a name I’ve never heard.  

“And you might not expect it,” she continues, “but I can be a very convincing stern taskmaster, even when the cadets are bigger than I am. General Hux says it works to my advantage, to show them not to underestimate opponents. The children do well under my training. The Supreme Leader told me you and the General are going to make changes, though.” Her brow furrows. “I hope he’s not unhappy with me — General Hux, I mean.”

“I’m sure he’s not,” I say. I think of Petra. _My my, Armitage, you do leave a trail of lovesick subordinates._  “You must have heard the gossip — it’s all due to my insidious influence.”

She smiles slyly. “You always knew how to do that. You had Master Luke wound around your finger, like you were his own daughter. And now look at you, the Dragon Lady in the flesh before me.” She lets out a peal of laughter.

“Dragon Lady?” I cry. “That’s one I’ve never heard before. That’s… that’s kind of racist.”

She covers her mouth. “Uh-oh. I’ve let the cat out of the bag. It’s because of your insignia, silly. What did you expect?”

She taps me on the left shoulder, on my dragon patch.

“Oh, yes, _that_ — that was Ben’s doing. He had a whole wardrobe designed for me with the dragon insignia. To make me identifiable, I suppose.”

She draws her eyebrows together, worried. “ _Ben?_ ” she whispers. “You call him that — by his forbidden name? He lets you?”

“I’ve never called him anything else. Except for ‘Supreme Leader’, when we’re around anyone else — well, everyone but Armitage.”

“ _Armitage_.”

Asha tilts her head and looks at me, as if understanding for the first time what I truly am — despite the prop vids, the rumors, it must not have been real, until this moment when she hears me speak in a way that reveals the intimacy I have with the two men who command her. I think of dancing with Hux, of lying under the stars with Ben. What a strange, singular position I have in the galaxy.

Asha’s posture changes as the realization turns me from her old friend into her First Order superior.

“Don’t,” I say. “Please don’t. Besides Ben, you’re the only one who knows me. The only one who calls me _Mira_.”

“That’s how it always was,” she says. “You were always his special friend.” She smiles. “We were so jealous, the other girls and me. But it always seemed like that was how it was supposed be, you know? The Force had plans for you two.”

“I suppose it did,” I say. “Asha — do you know where the others are?”

She looks at me a bit warily for a moment. “No,” she says finally. “Master Ren keeps us separate these days — out on individual missions. I think they’re undercover, like me. Do you think he’ll tell General Hux who I really am? I hate hiding it.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve been trying to get them to be less at odds with each other, so maybe.”

She smiles and takes my hands, my friend again. “I knew it was for the good of the galaxy for you to join us! The good of the First Order.” She bounces excitedly. “Oh, stars, I knew we all would be together again someday!” But then she turns serious and squeezes my hands. “We’re the only ones left, Mira.”

And our history passes between us — just as it did with Ben when I first held his hands again. I used to say I was the only one left. But now I know — there are others. We are _we_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed this update is early! That’s because I’ve… [deep breath] finished the fic! I’m posting as I proofread and fine-tune the remaining chapters.
> 
> I kept trying to write out the bit with Ben calling the chair over — it’s like the “cool” young teacher sitting in a chair backwards and “rapping” with the kids, but my stubborn ass just wouldn’t let me. The boy is damn awkward.
> 
> Next chapter: Mira makes Hux think about the past.


	47. Sir Leads the Troops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira meets some cadets. Hux makes a request. Mira tells him something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “The Headmaster Ritual” by The Smiths

**_The_ Absolution _, Over Gaia, Standard Month 9, 36 ABY_**

At Hux’s suggestion, I spend a few hours shadowing Asha, who goes by her own name here, though just her first one — Captain Asha — a surprise to me.

“My stormtrooper records say SH-4876,” she whispers to me. “According to them, I was a very accomplished cadet and distinguished myself in several battles with the New Republic as a stormtrooper.”

Her cadets respond to her presence like well-trained, eager-to-please puppies, standing perfectly still at attention but with their enthusiasm bubbling under their composed features. They’re ranked according to age, an age-leader heading up several squadrons, which have leaders of their own. The holders of these positions change as the cadets compete in simulations and hand-to-hand sparring. A never-ending stream of propaganda is played to them as they sleep and drill. Brightly colored posters showing heroic stormtroopers and approving officers decorate the walls of the corridors, barracks, and canteen. Hux is in some of them, rendered in commanding angles, wearing his greatcoat and peaked dress cap, his gloved left hand in front of him in a resolute fist, his right on his blaster at his hip. I smile when I see it, and Asha notices.

“The cadets are very motivated by General Hux’s life story,” she says. “Persecuted and pursued by the New Republic when he was just a child, building all this.”

“He is… quite something, yes,” I say.

She beams contentedly as we move on to the older cadets. They move up from junior cadets to senior cadets when they’re fourteen, and then their training turns from simulations into providing cover in real battles and “mopping up,” as Asha calls it, afterwards — collecting prisoners, making sure the fallen are dead.

I shudder but try not to show it. And how is this different, I think, from when the Jedi Order gave teenage padawans command of clones, men created to be slaughtered? Perhaps this is just how power in the galaxy works.

Still, I have questions, but I decide to ask them of Hux, not Asha. What happens to the children who aren’t suited to be soldiers? How many child soldiers die in battle? I walk alongside Asha, wondering as I watch the cadets drill.

Then they’re dismissed for a meal break, and they become children — rushing to the canteen, calling out to their friends. By nicknames, I note, not designations. Asha and I sit down at her table, where the morning’s top-performing junior cadets get to eat with her. She introduces them to me, and the two girls and two boys are unfailingly polite, addressing me as Counselor Galan and “ma’am,” answering my questions without hesitation or any childish shyness. But I ask them about their specialties, as I did with the stormtroopers, and then their individual personalities begin to surface — who is cocky, who is humble, who wants to impress, who is wary of standing out too much.

I am not impressed with the rations the cadets get. Asha assures me the foodstuff is perfectly calibrated to their nutritional needs, but they’re little more than bland gelatinous cubes. The cadets catch me poking at mine and making a face as I watch it wobble and stifle laughs.

After lunch, I bid Asha goodbye with a promise to come see her again before we reach the _Finalizer_ , and join Vrey and Hux in a conference room, where I’ve been summoned to talk about returning the Force-sensitive children to their families. Vrey has tracked down families for all except for Leo and Trist, the orphaned twins.

“I think we should send someone to scout out the families before returning the children,” I say. “If their families knowingly sold them, they shouldn’t get them back. We don’t want to take the children back to their home planets only to crush them by saying they’re not going to stay after all.”

Hux nods. “I’ll have some junior officers identified for the mission.”

“In plain clothes,” I say, “not uniforms.”

“All right,” he agrees.

“And even if we return them, we’ll have to continue to have them monitored — to prevent their being kidnapped or indoctrinated again.”

Hux sighs. “Yes, you’re right.”

“What about the twins?” I ask. “They don’t seem to have any family. The Church took them from an orphanage.”

Hux studies the records Vrey tracked down on his datapad.

“I suppose we can put the question to them,” he says.

“They’re just kids, Armitage,” I say. “What do they know about what their choices will mean for them?”

“More than we do, I daresay,” he says.

“They’re a little old to start stormtrooper training,” Vrey says. “The others will be ahead of them, but they can catch up if they work hard.”

“ _Stormtrooper training!_ ” I say, almost shouting it. “No. You don’t understand. These boys are _not_ meant to be stormtroopers.”

Vrey looks at me curiously. “What do you mean, not _meant to?_ The program is full of children just like them.”

I don’t want to reveal their Force sensitivity, so I look to Hux.

“I have some ideas,” he says, glancing at Vrey. “I’ll give them some thought and review them with you later, Counselor.”

I nod, and we all rise.

I walk with Hux as he takes a leisurely stroll to the bridge as if he is a king surveying his domain. No one who sees him could ever imagine the dread he felt over boarding this ship, ever suspect the anxiety roiling under his cool exterior. But I feel it, and so I stay close by his side, letting my shoulder brush against his from time to time, knowing my presence calms him.

“I don’t suppose,” I say quietly, “your ideas for the twins include anything like them being put under the tutelage of a certain general they obviously admire?”

“Why would you _not_ suppose that?” he asks. “I’ve taken a liking to them. And I’ve known how to train children since I was one myself.”

“But you wouldn’t just be _training_ them, Armitage. You’d be _raising_ them. Unless you plan to turn that aspect of their upbringing over to someone else.”

“What difference is there, really?”

We pass by a cluster of officers, who stand at attention and follow us with their eyes.

I hesitate before I say what I’m thinking, but it’s something he needs to hear. I wait until we step into a turbolift by ourselves, other officers choosing to wait for the next one rather than intrude on us.

“The difference,” I say, taking his hand in mine as we both stand facing the doors, “is the difference between Brendol Hux and Rae Sloane.”

His hand in mine goes slack. He walks over to the turbolift’s control panel, presses a button and taps in a code, and the lift abruptly stops. The jolt almost topples me.

Hux turns to face me. “And just where have you been getting your information about this subject?”

“You might have noticed,” I say, “I’m good at picking up on things. I put this together from what you say and don’t say about your father and what I know about Rae Sloane from Petra.”

Petra’s name once again unmoors him for a moment. I watch as he composes himself, straightening his posture, tugging down his sleeves.

“Miranda,” he says. “There are subjects that I do not broach for a reason. My upbringing is one of those, and I would thank you to respect that.”

“And I will,” I say. “I _have_. But if you are proposing to take in those two boys, _you_ sure as hell better broach it with yourself.”

He stares at me, his green eyes almost steel gray in the cold light of the turbolift, his cheekbones sharp as he holds his jaw tight, his mouth turned down, his whole body tensed as if ready to spring.

“Armitage, I’m sorry if it hurts for you to think about it. But surely you see I’m right.”

He doesn’t answer, but when I step closer to him, he doesn’t move away. And when I put my fingertips on his cheek he doesn’t flinch.

“I think you can do it, and do it well,” I say. “I know you can be kind and not cruel. And that is what is most important for children — especially for children like them. And you must be _patient_ . Mischievous _twin_ boys with Force abilities? They’ll be a handful. I knew some Force-sensitive twins, and they…. They were something.”

“But if….” He breathes in deeply. He places his hand over the one I have on his cheek, closes his fingers around it, and lowers our hands. He keeps his grasp around my fingers and pulls me closer. “If you’re there, with me — I mean, would you be?”

“I’d help you however I can,” I say. “But they’d be _your_ boys, not mine.”

His gaze drops, and I catch his thought before I can decide not to. _Boys need a mother._

When he looks back up at me, his face reddens and he lets go of my hand.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You have that look on your face — the one you get when you know what I’m thinking. It was… it was just a thought. One has thoughts that remain unspoken for a reason.”

“I don’t think I needed to hear what you were thinking to know.”

He turns away slightly. “I’m sorry. It’s too much to ask.”

What is this? The General and the Supreme Leader tangled into knots because of a few kids, and suddenly I am in small, enclosed spaces where they ask me in, their fashions, to be the mother of their children.

And I — I try so hard to see them as who they _are_ , not as lost little boys who hold the worlds of this galaxy like marbles in a pouch. They are men who are where they are because they are ruthless, and they are powerful.

But what can I do? I love them.

_Them._

“Do you know why I think triumvirates fail?” I ask.

Hux looks at me with a furrowed brow. “ _What?_ You’re talking about _triumvirates_?”

“They divided what they ruled amongst themselves,” I say. “Their empire became a battlefield for their competing interests, rather than a unified whole.”

He cocks his head at me, his eyes saying _And you think I don’t know this?_ “Yes, and…?”

“They ruled because of their desire for power, instead of their love for their ideals or the people and places that made up their empire. That was their downfall.”

His face is impassive as I speak, and no wonder — I’m talking around what I mean.

“None of the empire you and Ben have — not a single system — is territory I conquered. The only parts of it that are mine are him — and you.”

He meets my eyes with his, close to understanding.

“Ben has been mine for a long time. Even when we were separated, he was mine. But you? I had to work to get you. I had to _conquer_. And now that I have you — how do I keep you?”

He closes his eyes. “Just by being here,” he says without opening them.

“No,” I say. “That’s not enough, not fair to you.” I move closer to him. “I keep you, not by desiring the power it gives me —” I tap him under the chin so he’ll look at me— “but by loving you.”

I watch as it comes over him, his face softening into that wondrous expression, which, I realize, is one of the reasons I’ve learned to love him. But it slackens as he takes in a breath.

“I’ll never be what Ren is to you, though.”

“You’re right,” I say. “And I’m going to have to resign myself to always being second to Millie.”

He laughs softly, but returns to seriousness. “I see what you are to each other,” he says. “When I saw you two fighting at the palace — I recognize the results of training, and that wasn’t merely training that made you two able to take on twenty people and come out unscathed.”

“I’m unscathed, I remind you, because _you_ killed Lora San Tekka.”

He scoffs. “Like you said, I saved you a swing. You would have gotten her easily.”

“Perhaps. But I didn’t _want_ to kill her. I understood what was fueling her anger. I sympathized. I might have hesitated. Or I might have killed her and wondered later if I had to do it. That’s what you saved me from.”

I put my hand on his arm, which hangs by his side, on the general’s insignia on his left sleeve. I lock my eyes on his, finding each fleck of gold in the sea green. “No one will ever be what you are to me either,” I say. “Nobody else could ever be the man I was resolved to kill but who became my friend, who worked his way into my heart despite every one of my reminders to myself of what he is, who he is — because you showed me, over and over, that you could be something different.”

He ducks his head as he smiles, puts his hand on my waist, just as when we danced in my bungalow. “Miranda, I —”

Just then, a voice comes from the turbolift’s comm. “General Hux? Counselor Galan? Engineering has been alerted to the stopped turbolift. Is there a problem?”

Hux and I tip our heads together and laugh quietly. “The First Order knows all,” I whisper.

“No, nothing is wrong,” Hux replies, in his clipped general tone. “And why did it take engineering so long to alert anyone? Return to your duties.”

“Yes, sir. Apologies, sir.” The comm closes.

“Now,” I say, “as you were, General.”

His hand tightens on my waist. “We should return to our duties as well,” he says.

I look up at him, surprised.

“I want to say so much more,” he whispers. “ _Do_ so much more. But now is not the time.” He gestures at the confines of the turbolift, the stark backlit walls. “Or the place.”

I nod. I push back his hair where it’s fallen onto his forehead. We smooth down our uniforms. Hux starts the turbolift moving again and stands facing the doors, hands clasped behind his back, elbows turned out. I stand next to him, my hands in front of me, my wounded left one behind my right.

“I meant to ask,” he says without looking at me. “What happened to your hand?”

I hold back a smile. “I punched him.”

Hux sputters. “ _Punched_ him. Why?”

“It’s a long story. I shouldn’t have done it,” I say. “But at the same time, he totally had it coming.”

When the turbolift doors open, the crew on the bridge are treated to the sight of General Hux and Chief Counselor Galan, looking sidelong at each other and laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warn you, everything is going in hard on the softness at the end here. Well except the part in the  
> Next chapter: When they’re all forced to think about Snoke.
> 
> It gets pretty disturbing then.


	48. He Grabs and Devours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira remembers something horrible from the past — both her past and Ben’s and Hux’s. Please see the content warnings in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from, like the title of chapter 47, [“The Headmaster Ritual”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQTc4GolJt4) by The Smiths.
> 
> It’s a song about the mental and physical abuse of students, which is why I find it apt, but that aptness is why I need to include a CW. This chapter has a description of a sexual assault (which didn’t actually happen) and allusions to physical abuse.
> 
> "He does the military two-step down the nape of my neck" is such a chilling descriptions of what abuse feels like.

**_The Absolution, Over Gaia, Standard Month 9, 36 ABY_ **

The _Absolution_ remains over Gaia, awaiting the planetary government’s plan to deal with smuggling and human trafficking to be delivered to the Supreme Leader. I gaze down at the planet from an observation window, at its blue-and-green surface covered with white clouds.

Hux’s rounds consist mostly of hovering over people’s shoulders and making them nervous as he walks the floor where he once held command, where his father once held command. I follow by his side, speaking to officers and technicians, until dinner time, when we return to his quarters.

Ben is there already and gives us both a look with raised eyebrows. Hux’s eyes linger on the fresh cut on Ben’s lip. He gives me a small, knowing smile as I pass by them both to go to my quarters to change out of my uniform.

The three of us sit in the round central room, lounging over our datapads as we catch up on memos and correspondence. K4 fusses over us, putting away Ben’s and Hux’s uniform tunics after they take them off, setting our food out on the coffee table, shaking out napkins, pouring drinks. Hux is on edge, both because of the droid’s over-solicitousness and from being in his father’s former quarters — and also from being here with Ben, where their fractious relationship began. And yet he chooses to remain here with the two of us, periodically looking over his datapad as if to confirm we are here.

“It’s useless to reason with or even threaten this Petrokis Vane character,” Ben says after we’ve sat together, silently eating our meals for a few minutes. “He’s one of those smarmy fucks who thinks knowing privileged information gives _him_ special privileges.”

“What is there to know?” I ask. “Snoke commissioned the creation of this drug, along with whatever other abominations he thought up, and Kirgalis complied. Vane is still Snoke’s agent, just trying to lure you onto the planet to corrupt you.”

Ben pauses and considers. “Hux, you know this — what was it that Emperor Palpatine planned for when he died?” Ben asks.

Hux starts at being addressed and quickly composes himself. “The Contingency Plan. He ordered a series of actions that would result in the Empire’s destruction in the event of his death — should his death be a violent one. At the same time, he stockpiled resources in the Unknown Regions for the use of a worthy successor to the Empire, if such a thing arose. And of course it did, with the First Order. The plan went awry though — Jakku was supposed to have been destroyed, along with the majority of Imperial forces, but, as you know, it was not. I was there for that part.”

“The story you were telling the kids,” I say.

Hux presses his lips together. “Yes,” says.

Ben stands and begins to pace, gnawing on a piece of bread. “Snoke must have had the same kind of plan. He gave _you_ the drug and the instructions, not me,” he says to Hux. “He’d lost his faith in me — he wouldn’t trust me with the First Order. So he wanted me dead if he was dead.”

Hux looks stunned for a moment. “Does that mean — he meant for _me_ to be Supreme Leader?”

“Or did he expect you to die too, trying to kill Ben?” I ask.

Ben stops pacing in front of Hux. “Who fucking cares what he _meant_ or _expected_?” he snarls through gritted teeth. “We’re free of him. We need to destroy every last bit of his plans, his intentions — every _thought_ he ever had, gone.”

Ben and Hux meet each other’s eyes, look into each other’s faces, Ben’s fierce and feral, Hux’s seemingly composed but with his eyes hard as flint.

“The destruction of the _Supremacy_ did much of our work already,” Hux says. His lip curls. “ _Snoke’s Boudoir,_ as people called it.”

My stomach knots. Hux speaks the phrase as an obscenity, and I feel more of the dark revulsion that courses through him. I think of the twisted man hiding in the shadows of the inn, watching me and Ben. I let myself remember that night — when Ben and I lay on the lumpy inn bed with a small expanse of mattress between us, wanting to touch each other with an intensity that had both of us clenching our hands in the sheets. And then as if  I’m reliving it — or, rather, living it for the first time, because this is a memory that my mind had hidden — I see how Ben shuddered and turned to scream into his pillow. I sat up, throwing my arms around him without even thinking, murmuring his name.

“I saw it,” he said, shaking, sweat beading on his brow, “but I didn’t do it. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Mira, I _wouldn’t._ ”

“Saw what?”

And he squeezed his eyes shut and writhed against his thoughts, and I grabbed his hand and saw it too. Saw and heard _me_ , my clothes torn off me, my face bloody, sobbing out, “No, no, Ben, no!” and his hands pushing me down, holding me down, and then him on top of me — his fingers in my mouth, forcing it open, forcing me, even as there were screams in my throat and I kicked and beat at him with my hands.

I’d forgotten. My mind had shut the memory of this — Ben’s agony, the vision — from me, and now, remembering, I sink into the sofa, trembling. Ben’s eyes dart to me as he catches my thoughts, my memories.

Back then, in the inn, I said to Ben, “You wouldn’t, you wouldn’t, I know you wouldn’t” as I cried and felt his horror. But I asked myself _Why?_ Why would such a thought grab hold of him?

And now I know. _Snoke._

I hear the faintest tremor of a voice that makes me cringe and want to shrink in on myself, as if all around me something filthy is seeking out my skin. _She’s disgusted by you, sickened. Ever since she saw what is_ _really_ _in your mind. You think you’ll ever see her again? Ha! She’ll have gone as far away from you as she can. She wants nothing more to do with you, and can you blame her?_

Ben sits again, next to me, and takes my hands. The three of us look at one another, silent, united by this same nausea, thinking of the intrusive fingers that worked their way into our lives and our fates, the fingers that I now know wrapped themselves around that slender, pale wrist beneath the General stripes on Hux’s tunic, that tipped up his chin — not as I did, lovingly, in the turbolift — and traced the shape of his mouth as I have done so many times, but not in admiration as I do, but full of sadistic intentions. And the voice again, saying, _Look, my apprentice. I’ve already prepared a toy for you_.

I pull my hands from Ben’s and put them over my ears as if they could keep out the sound. And when they don’t, I scream in a tearful rage at my own impotence.

“I wish I could kill him,” I say through my tears. “If he weren’t dead I would kill him, I swear I would, or die trying.”

I scream through gritted teeth again and flail out, kicking the coffee table and knocking it over, and the remains of our meal crash to the floor.

K4 approaches with a sound of alarm, but, seeing the scene, quickly withdraws.

Hux has gotten up and sat by my side, too, without thinking about Ben being there — the way he placed his hand on my arm at the banquet, his hand on my waist at the party in my bungalow, and lay by my side in my bed when I was ill.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wiping away my tears and looking from Ben to Hux. I take their hands in mine. “Look at me, screaming as if all that happened to me and not to you. I’m sorry.”

Hux’s brow furrows. “All what?” he asks. “What did you see?”

“Enough,” I reply.

He closes his eyes and shudders, and I hold more tightly onto his hand. How to comfort them? They rushed to my side in my distress, but in them I feel a deep, abiding horror — of what they’ve done, what was done to them. I tuck my feet under me, lean on Ben’s shoulder, and draw Hux to me so his head rests against my side. There is nothing I can offer but my presence, the reassurance that I will remain by their sides — and I thank the stars that this is a consolation to them. We sit long after the quarters’ automated controls dim the lights in the room, quiet, but not uneasily so.

“So what are we going to do?” I ask finally. “About Kirgalis? About Snoke’s plans?”

“Wipe them out,” Ben says, his voice free of any kind of passion. “Every trace of him, of his plans — gone.”

“Obliterate them,” Hux agrees, sitting up.

“How?” I say.

“Oh,” Hux says. “I have some ideas. You said Byss is irrevocably corrupted, yes?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Then there’s no reason even you would object to its destruction,” he says. “And the destruction of everyone on it.”

I’m surprised that I need no time to think before answering. “No,” I say, sitting up as well. “There isn’t.”

I look to Ben. He nods, and then stands. “Well, then,” he says. “We know what our agenda is once we’re back on the _Finalizer_.”

He offers me his hand, and I take it as I rise from the sofa. Hux, as always, stands when I do.

“Good night, Hux,” Ben says, nodding at his general.

“Good night, Ren,” he replies, somewhat puzzled.

I linger for a moment after Ben turns toward the hallway that leads to our quarters.

“Armitage,” I say, when I hear the door to our room close.

He looks at me.

“I’m sorry if I saw more than you wanted to show me,” I say. “What we are to each other — it makes it easier for me to catch your thoughts, memories. And I’m getting stronger in it — the Force. I’m still learning to control it.”

He smiles slightly. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to it — if I want to remain being what I am to you.”

I feel nervous, unaccountably, as if I am the inexperienced girl paying the innkeeper in Hanna City again. “When will you be in your quarters tomorrow?” I ask. “May I come see you?”

He blushes now, the way he did when he asked me to have dinner in his quarters, that first time. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” I say, the arch courtesan that I am now reasserting herself.

“Then an hour after lunch, like we used to do?”

“I’ll be there.”

I rise to my toes and kiss his cheek, and then go to my quarters. Ben is sitting on our bed, shirtless and barefoot, smirking at me.

“Making plans?” he says. “You keep that man on the end of a string, Mira. You have him tied to your finger and every time you give a little twitch he responds.”

I crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, facing him. “That’s not how it is,” I say. “He’s not my plaything, like you called him. That’s what Snoke taught you. It’s how he treated both of you, how he wanted you to treat Hux.”

He studies me, narrowing his eyes. “You _have_ gotten stronger. Ever since your illness. What else have you seen?”

“You know what I’ve seen.”

“I do. But I understand it. Do you?”

I return his gaze. “I understand that you said you would wipe out every trace of Snoke left in the galaxy. So wipe out whatever of him still remains in you.”

“Easy to say.”

“You’re strong enough to do it.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to _want_ to, though.” He sits cross-legged now, too, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. “If someone said to you — obliterate every trace of Kylo Ren’s influence from yourself, would you do it?”

I frown, and I think of how I seduced Hux, how I threatened to corrupt the kyber crystal, how I taunted the girl, how I cut through the members of the Church of the Force.

“No,” I say.

“You see, then.”

“But so do you. I feel it — I know your feelings toward Hux aren’t what they used to be. I know you both endured pain together. I know that you’re sorry, at least some part of you is, for what you’ve done to him.”

“And I know that you have such tender feelings for the illustrious General Armitage Hux, scourge of a dozen systems,” he says, a bit mockingly.

“Stop, Ben.”

He smiles at me. “Am I embarrassing you?”

“Are you trying to? Or are you trying to shame me?”

His smile disappears. “Shame you? I told you, you can never do anything that you should feel ashamed of — not for my sake. But you two this afternoon — alone in stopped turbolifts, laughing at secret jokes, the General looking at you like he definitely knows what you look like out of your uniform. I could hear the talk from all over the ship.”

I scoff. “Let them talk.”

His mouth twists into a satisfied half-smile. “There’s my girl.”

I laugh and dive at him, pushing him onto his back. He easily flips me onto my back, though, still smiling.

“Ah, you’re not going to get the better of me this time,” he says. His hands are around my wrists, his hips pinning me down.

His lip is still raw, split and swollen where I punched him. The little wounds we give to each other — the bites, the scratches, the bruises — we never use bacta on them, letting them linger and even scar. But I bandaged my cut knuckles. Ben, though, thinks of his cut lip the same way as he does the half-moon welts on his back from my fingernails — another love wound, another proof of my contact.

“What _were_ you and Hux doing in that turbolift?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eye. This is a new game, it seems.

“I’m going to have to disappoint you,” I say. “We were talking.”

“Talking.”

“About his childhood.”

He closes his eyes. “Dammit, you _were_.”

“Were you hoping for something different?”

He dips his head down and kisses me, his lip hot where it’s wounded. He still holds me down, but the kiss is gentle.

“You used to think you could hurt me,” he says, “by telling me what you did with him, by keeping your mind open to me while you were with him.”

“I did hurt you.”

He nods. “You did. But I don’t think you can anymore.”

“And you’re trying to test that theory.”

“Perhaps.”

I free one of my legs from beneath him and twine it around him, pulling him closer to me.

“What does it mean, do you think,” I say, “if it doesn’t hurt you anymore? Does it mean you care about me less?”

He laughs. He’s close enough to me now that his hair tickles my face. “You know better than that.”

He kisses my neck now, to get me to raise my hips into his, smiling with satisfaction when I comply.

“It means,” he says, “that I have the devotion of someone I don’t control.”

“Devotion?” I say. I start to wiggle my left wrist free of his grasp.

“What, if not that?” he asks.

My arm free, I put my hand on the back of his head, curling my fingers in his hair. I pull him closer, raising myself to meet his lips with mine. He releases my other wrist to slide his hands under my dress, pulling it over my head. Finding me bare beneath it, he presses his lips between my breasts and lifts me by my hips onto his lap. And then we are lost inside each other, our bodies and minds ceasing to be clearly his or mine, and in that bond, we are sure that, together, we are more than Ben and Mira, more than the First Order, more than the Jedi, more than the galaxy — we are the Force itself, terrifyingly invincible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s pretty late in the game for me to have figured this out, but the moment when Mira has no compunctions about destroying Byss and everyone on it is when I knew where her arc as a character was landing. There was a lot that was very fluid when I was writing (because it was just For Fun, Yay! but happened to take over my life), and Mira’s eventual relationship with the Dark Side/Light Side of the Force was one of them.
> 
> Next chapter:  
> Mira has an awkward conversation with the children, a confrontational conversation with Asha, and, oh Suns, an appointment in Hux's quarters.


	49. Take Me to the Haven of Your Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira has uncomfortable conversations with the children and with Asha — uncomfortable in two totally different ways, but, yeesh, it’s a good thing she’s hanging out with Hux this afternoon. Because that’s never uncomfortable, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from “Reel Around the Fountain” by The Smiths (I used a quote from it for chapter 44, too. It’s a formative song for me.)

**_The_ Absolution _, Over Gaia, Standard Month 9, 36 ABY_**

I spend breakfast with the children in the dignitaries’ lounge, playing more games, letting them talk about their families. Kayta and Sarai sit close by me, saying little, but the older kids ask me about my childhood. I wonder how much I should tell them. High Command knows who Ben and I are, that we were trained as Jedi together in Luke Skywalker’s Temple, but this has remained a secret — though I imagine Leia has told the Resistance about me by now. So I don’t use names, but I tell them about training at the Temple, but about every aspect of it — not just the feeling of being chosen for a higher calling and the strengthening of our abilities, but the homesickness, the soreness and weariness as we trained our bodies and minds, the long periods of silence that were so hard for the little ones, the suspicious looks we got from the other kids when we got to interact with them on field trips.

“And you were there with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren?” Gemma asks. She always calls him by his full name and title.

“Yes,” I say. “He was my best friend. And he still is.”

“That’s why you kiss him,” Allegra says, knowingly. “On the mouth.”

She’s become the resident expert on the subject of Hux, Ben, and me among the kids, having seen us in my private quarters in the Senate Palace.

“Well, yes, but….” I say, badly floundering for a moment.

“Is General Hugs your best friend too?”

“ _Allegra_ ,” Gemma whispers at her.

“General Hux is my friend, too, yes,” I say.

“But not your _best_ friend. That’s why he only kisses you on your hand, not your mouth.”

“ _Allegra_ ,” Gemma says again.

Suns, and Ben and Hux want to bring _this_ into our lives.

“I guess,” I say, looking at the kids’ questioning faces, “what it is… is that the three of us care about each other very much, and we are friends in different ways.”

“General Hux came to say good night last night, and I told him that you’re bee-yoo-ti-full and he said I was right,” one of the twins — I can’t tell them apart yet — says. He obviously thinks this has a serious meaning in regards to my relationship with Hux.

“That’s very sweet of you,” I say. “And of General Hux.”

The kids exchange looks.

“All right,” I say. “So have you all been practicing what I showed you? With the cups?”

“General Hux said you once showed him how you do that trick,” the other twin says.

“And did General Hux tell you that _I_ told _him_ that using the Force isn’t a party trick?”

“Yes,” say the twins, simultaneously.

I put my hands on my knees. “Well! Then you know that even though it’s fun, it’s serious, too. Now, line up. Show me how you’ve been coming along.” I position my teacup on the table for them. “Who’s first?”

* * *

I think about this little training session when I am having lunch with Asha and the cadets again. This time I observe the older ones, teenagers with all the awkwardness of adolescence somehow secondary to the precision of their training. They carry themselves in a way that is uncanny, not quite matching their spotty faces and gangly limbs. It sets me on edge. They also remind me of Lussix, still alone in his observation cell on the _Finalizer_. I need to speak with him, but I don’t know what I’ll say, and I don’t want to think about it. So I talk to the cadets about the food.

“I never leave the canteen hungry,” says one of the girls. She’s sixteen, the same age as Lamia when I last saw her, but hardened, tested by battle already, a scar running through her pale left eyebrow, her knuckles bruised.  “So I figure the food is fine.”

“Do you _like_ it though?” I ask. “It’s not really _food_.”

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am,” she says. “We eat it, so it’s food.”

“This is the only food most of us remember eating, ma’am — except for the ones who remember not having enough of what they ate, before,” a boy who has just transferred up into senior cadets says.

“I see,” I say.

Asha dismisses the cadets to have some rare leisure time after lunch.

“Come to my quarters,” she says. “We’ll talk.”

I glance at the chrono on the wall in the canteen. It’s between a poster showing a tall figure in gleaming chrome stormtrooper armor and a black-and-red captain’s cape and one of Hux, standing with his hands clasped in front of him, his head lowered, his green eyes raised in a silent challenge.

“I have an appointment with Armitage in an hour,” I say.

“Ah, so that’s what’s going on! You’ve been preoccupied this whole time.”

“There’s _a lot_ going on, Asha,” I say. “Not just meetings with the general.”

“You spent most of the afternoon with General Hux yesterday, yet this meeting has you nervous. It must be _special_.” She makes her eyebrows bounce, smiling mischievously.

“Asha!” I protest. “You’re as bad as the kids.”

She opens the door to her quarters, a decently-sized room with a couch, small table and two chairs, and bed. We sit down on the couch, and she gives me a knowing look that, in a moment, darkens.

“What exactly are you doing, Mira?” she asks, seriously.

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t been through what I and the others have. You’re not turned the way we are. So what are you doing here, in all this?”

Her look is a challenge, and I feel her sensing the light in me and disdaining it.

“I’m being what Ben needs me to be,” I say.

“What does that have to do with private meetings with General Hux? I hear the gossip the same as everyone else. _Master Ren_ hears the gossip, I’m sure.”

“It isn’t anything Ben doesn’t know about,” I say.

She takes this in, and I feel her considering another angle of inquiry. “And why would you — you and your light — be here with Master Ren when you thought he killed everyone?”

“It’s… it’s complicated, Asha. You know how it’s always been between Ben and me.”

“Oh, yes, everyone at the Temple knew about you and… _Ben_. But we also knew how you were Master Luke’s favorite, Senator Organa’s favorite. Like a member of the family. Did she send you?”

I laugh. It’s a laugh of pure dismissal, I realize. “Do you think Ben wouldn’t know if his mother sent me? Do you think he wouldn’t know if I had ulterior motives?” I lean forward, meeting her challenge with my own. “ _What would your master think about you doubting his power?_ ”

Asha freezes, the scheming look in her eyes — so similar to the one I had seen in Kreet’s, weeks ago when Ben and I interrogated her — fading as she withdraws. She turns her gaze to her hands as she takes off her gloves, meticulously smoothing them and then laying them out the edge of the couch. The same Jedi-trained habits as Ben and I have.

“I underestimated you, Mira,” she says, then sits back and smiles. “You’d think I would have known better, seeing as how I count on people doing the same thing to me! But of course Master Ren wouldn’t have you in the position you’re in if you were weak or compromised. Unless he has other plans for you.”

I narrow my eyes. So this is what the dark side has made of her. She is suspicious, insecure — searching out threats to her master, even in one of her — and his — oldest friends. I feel it in her, that intense loyalty to him. But she is under his power. I think of what Ben said to me — about having the devotion of someone he doesn’t control.

She looks back at me, unabashed. “You can’t blame me for what I’ve become, Mira,” she says.

“No,” I say. “No more than you can blame me for what I am.”

She makes a slight flick of her wrist. “You are what you always were,” she says. “Hopelessly in love with him, stronger when you’re with him. None of us can blame you for that.”

 _None of us_.

“The others,” I say. “I want to see them, too.”

“In good time, I suppose,” she says. “If you’re everything everyone says you are to Master Ren and General Hux, you’ll see all the First Order’s secrets eventually. More of them than I know.”

And then, disarmingly, the darkness fades from her eyes and her demeanor, and she’s the Asha of our girlhoods again — nearly.

“Don’t think I’m not jealous, though,” she says. “Master Luke would have said to turn away from it, but I know how to use it now, jealousy. I can be happy for you and jealous at the same time now, and not think it’s a contradiction, an impossibility. Before, he would have made me think that my happiness for you was a lie because it couldn’t have existed alongside jealousy. But _that’s_ a lie. A lie to keep us from forming _attachments_ , always keeping us at a bit of a distance from each other.”

I nod. “It is,” I say.

“I knew you’d understand!” She grabs my hands and shakes them a bit. “Tell me what it’s like… not with Master Ren, that’s not proper for me to know — I promise I won’t even _look_ , even though it’s almost impossibly tempting. But with General Hux.”

I feel the blood rush to my face. “Asha, I —” I think of all the conversations I had with Farah about men on Gaia. How easy it was to talk about them because I knew I’d never see them again. “Armitage is your commanding officer. I don’t think that would be proper, either.”

“Oh, _you_ don’t need to tell me — the blush tells all.” She laughs, the tinkling laughter of old, of little Asha of the tiny feet.

And I can’t help it, I laugh back. “Well, you know General Hux,” I say. “He’s very... attentive to detail.”

We dissolve into giggles as if we are fourteen years old again.

* * *

All this has the effect of making me less nervous when I leave to meet Hux. I’m still flush with laughter — from Asha’s description of her early fumblings with Silla, when they had been holed up together in an abandoned Rebellion shelter during a mission as Knights of Ren; our reminiscences of the mess we once made of kitchen duty in the Temple, when we proudly presented our fellow padawans with a cake that we had accidentally put salt in instead of sugar; and, horrifyingly, about my mimicking of the chants of the dusty members of the Church of the Force — when I see Ben on my way back to the senior officers’ deck.

He catches me by the hand and pulls me to him.

“Hello,” he says, smirking slightly, leaning over me.

“Hello.”

I smile back up at him and watch his dark eyes trace my features, searching out my thoughts.

“I suppose you’ll be staying in to have dinner with Hux,” he says.

I blush. “Maybe.”

“Stay with him tonight, if you want to.”

I frown, thinking of how he once screamed and threw a teapot at the wall at the thought of Hux and me together. But he isn’t being cruel. He means it.  He’s thinking of what I said — about him being sorry of the ways he’s hurt Hux, about them being the only two who know what Snoke did to them. He’s thinking about me being a source of consolation for both of them.

“But rest up,” he continues. “We have an appointment in the training room on the officer’s deck tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Oh, do we?”

“You’re recovered from your illness now — and stronger — so don’t expect it to be easy.”

I yank him closer to me now. “The same goes for you.”

And then everyone who stopped at attention for the Supreme Leader pretends not to see as he kisses me in the busy corridor. A mouse droid zips by our feet. We part wordlessly, going our momentarily separate ways, laughing inwardly at the quickly averted eyes.

* * *

I practically trot off the private turbolift into the suite, pulling off my boots and tossing them to K4, who manages to catch one as she confusedly babbles out, “Miss Miranda, Master Armitage asked me to inform you that he is in his quarters —”

“Yes, yes, _of course_ he is,” I say, pulling my hair out of its chignon and leaving a trail of hairpins behind me that a mouse droid scuttles up to and picks up.

“— and that you may join him at your earliest convenience,” K4 says to my departing back.

I go to my quarters, use the fresher, and brush my teeth and hair. I pack a little bag, with my toiletries, clothes to wear tomorrow, and my old dressing gown, the one with dragons on it that Hux first saw me in at my bungalow, when he was eating cereal at my kitchen table. I consider, and then put a bar of cannabis-laced chocolate in the bag as well. I consider again, and grab my hookah in its case too.

As I pass back through the room, I see that the blood on the floor has been cleaned up. And out in the lounge the overturned table has been righted, the dishes and food long since cleared away. Everything here is so tidy, so well-ordered. So Hux. Any trace I can leave in this place gets swept away, cleaned up — disappears. But I know it’s not so in Hux himself.

So when he opens the door to his quarters, perfectly composed in body but unsure in his expressions and movements, I laugh and fairly launch myself into him. It knocks him off balance, but he manages to get me into his arms, the way he carried me that first time in his quarters on the _Finalizer_.

I love the surprise registering on his face, so I kiss him and laugh. There’s an ice blue sofa here, too, just like the one on the _Finalizer_ , and he gets us onto it, where I topple him over before I notice Millie was sleeping on it. She wakes, her ears flattened, glares at me, and then, with a glance at her master, decides she’ll tolerate the disruption.

“You’re in a good mood,” he observes as I settle in on the sofa. He’s still wound up in his own anxiety, but he smiles at me now. “Thank you for coming.”

“Don’t get all formal with me now, Armitage,” I say. I look around the room, at its sleek lines, the way it is so like Hux and yet devoid of anything personal of his. “Because I’ve decided: We’re going to have some fun.”

He looks dubious. “Really.”

I get up on my knees and crawl over him, cat-like. “Yes, really. And these quarters? The ones with all the memories in them, where everything is so — _just so?_ ”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to _wreck_ them.”

* * *

We end up on the floor, just as we used to, first in the expansive lounge of Hux’s quarters, where we languidly eat dinner, still a bit stunned and breathless; then in the bedroom, where we smoke a little cake of hashish while sitting on pillows pulled from the bed.

We haven’t actually used it, but bed is certainly something — a huge thing, the frame slick black lacquer with slender, square posters and heavy drapery that can be pulled closed around it. I look at it from the corner of my eye while I grip at the duvet that we’ve spread on the floor, as Hux takes long, slow strokes with his eyes closed, his right hand circling my breast, sliding along my side to my hip. He must sense my divided attention, though, because he opens is eyes and studies me.

“Why do you keep looking over there?” he asks.

“Your bed. You’ve been avoiding it.”

He pauses in his movements. “Suddenly the floor isn’t good for Madame?”

“I’m serious, Armitage. There’s… something about it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Miranda, you pick the most inopportune times for these _feelings_ of yours.”

“It’s _your_ feelings,” I say. “They’re distracting.” I glance over at the bed again. “I want you to do something.”

“What.”

“I want you to pick me up, throw me on that bed, and fuck me so hard that I scream.”

His cock gives a twitch of approval inside me.

“And then,” I say, “I’m going to get my lightsaber” — alarm briefly registers in his eyes — “and cut that stupid bed to pieces.”

His face turns questioning, slightly shocked. “What? Why?”

“Because it’ll make you happy.”

“In what possible way will that make me happy?”

This conversation is running the risk of interrupting our momentum, so I grab him by the shoulders and turn him over.

“I don’t know _why_ ,” I say. “I just know that it _will._ ” I give him a squeeze with my knees, as if urging a fathier into a gallup. “What do you say, General?”

And his expression alters — he becomes what I called him, when he’s walking the corridors or commanding the bridge of a Star Destroyer. His jaw set, his eyes hard, an undercurrent of smug reveling in his own power in the near-smile on his lips.

He pushes me off him and stands, hauling me over his shoulder over to the bed. He throws me onto it, and then is on me with a ferocity I’ve not seen in him before, not even in the corridor on the night we left the _Finalizer_.

“Suns!” I gasp, and he gives me a look like I am a Tatooine dancing girl — and then all words leave me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhhhh, just thinking about Brendol Hux gives me the creeps. I’m writing a short for Week 9 of the Kylux Summer Challenge that has Brendol in it, and he makes me sick.
> 
> But! the story also has Armie and Ben in an Arkanis that is late ‘70s Manchester. Armie has dreams of being a star, but he needs bandmates. (Another reason for all these songs by The Smiths being on my mind.)


	50. Take Me Anywhere, I Don’t Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything gets wrecked. And then really soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from "There Is a Light that Never Goes Out" by The Smiths

**_The_ Absolution _, Over Gaia, Standard Month 9, 36 ABY_**

Hux is still wary of my lightsaber, which is fine with me, since with it in my hand, it’s clear that I am _not_ a Tatooine dancing girl. I’ve gotten a taste of what General Hux must have been to those he once dismissed to me as “not worth mentioning” — people, perhaps, like my mother. Or his. It’s what I wanted— in that moment. To be someone — some _thing_ — less rarified. But now that moment has passed. I stand poised next to the bed, wrapped in my dragon dressing gown, my bare feet feeling the smooth floor beneath me.

Now, I want the rush of power that comes from watching the blade of my saber reflect in his eyes as I ignite it, the intake of his breath as I look up him, holding it, and say, “Ready?”

He swallows hard, looking from me and my blade to the bed. He’s in his sinuous black robe, but he’s far from being relaxed in it. His every muscle is taut.

“It was my father’s,” he says, the words rushing out as if he’s saying them before he can change his mind. “The bed.”

I lower my blade.

“I’m not going to touch it unless you say so,” I say. “But you loathed your father. You had him killed. So why feel a responsibility to keep this?”

He gulps again, shakes his head. “It’s from Arkanis. One of the only things from Arkanis. I don’t know if I….”

“Arkanis is still there. Go back to it, conquer it. You don’t need this to have Arkanis. And besides —” I smile at him over my blade, which whirs along with my mischievous mood.

“Besides what?”

“Do you think your father ever fucked a woman who loves him until she screamed in this bed?”

His eyes widen slightly.

“You can surpass him in every possible way,” I say, walking toward him and shifting my saber blade behind me. I drag its tip along the shiny-black floor, where it sparks and leaves a molten red line that quickly cools and scars. “Surpass him and then destroy anything that he left behind that you have no use for.”

He blanches slightly, his pink lips going pale. He steps aside.

“Do it,” he says.

The first strike slices through the mattress, leaving the acrid smell of singed feathers in the air. Hux gasps, and I feel his momentary horror followed by a surge of exhilaration. Working with precision rather than anger, I sever each of the posts from the base and cut the tapestry curtains to flaming ribbons. The headboard and footboard, heavy and carved with intricate geometric patterns that are picked out with shimmering shells — marvels of workmanship, which is a shame — are harder to cleave, but I get through them in just a few strokes, and the bed collapses.

When I’m finished, the bed is a smoldering heap of charred wood and fabric, ashes from the burning feathers dusting the air and clinging to Hux’s hair and pale eyelashes. The suite’s safety system activates, and suddenly we’re being soaked by a shower of water from the ceiling. It hisses and steams as it falls on the blade of my lightsaber. I deactivate it and then turn to Hux, who is breathing heavily has he stares at the wreckage of Brendol Hux’s bed.

He turns to me. I smile. He smiles. And then we are laughing, the way we did in the banquet room at on the _Finalizer_ , after the assassination attempt.

“What is that saying about politics making strange _bedfellows?_ ” he asks.

“Nobody ever said ruling the galaxy was going to be a _bed of roses,_ General,” I reply through giggles, moving closer to put my lips against his neck.

“Is this what people mean when they say one has _shat the bed?_ ”

I shriek with laughter, my forehead against his shoulder. He grabs me by the elbows and pulls me to the floor.

“Come, come, Counselor — you know the saying: You’ve _made your bed_ , now lie in it!”

He presses me down into a pile of shredded tapestry, kissing me through his own laughter.

At that moment, the suite’s outer door bursts open. We turn and see Ben — followed by a clearly agitated K4 who is saying, “The emergency system indicates a fire, Supreme Leader” — loping into the room, his head lowered as if looking for danger. Then, through the open double doors of the bedroom, he sees us. And Hux’s destroyed bed. He straightens, his eyes scanning the scene of destruction. And then, abruptly, he turns and leaves, brushing by K4, who totters out after him. The main door slams shut behind them.

I mouth _Oh, shit_ at Hux, and we dissolve into laughter again. Eventually, he barks some command to make the sprinklers stop, and we push each other’s wet hair off our faces, and pull our soaked robes off each other’s bodies.

* * *

Later, after we’ve bathed and put on dry pajamas, we survey the sodden mess of Hux’s bedroom.

“I said we’d wreck the place, but it could be that I didn’t entirely think this through,” I say.

“It all can be replaced easily enough,” Hux says.

“The floor of your sitting room it is, then,” I say.

“Go ahead and sleep in your room, Miranda. No point in both of us putting our spines out of alignment.”

“No. I want to sleep here, with you.”

We make a nest of sofa cushions and curl up on them. Millie comes from underneath the couch and lies down next to me. I reach out and sense Ben, awake in our room, wondering about me. I wrap my presence around him and hope that he feels it. He does. I fall asleep to the sound of Hux breathing with his face nestled in my hair and Millie’s contented rumbling.

I dream of being safe, and loved, and powerful.

* * *

The three of us don’t talk about the day and night before the next morning as we eat breakfast in the suite’s sitting room. We read the daily brief on our datapads as we drink our tea and caf. Another sector of Coruscant has been secured, and the New Republic is offering to draw back its presence on the planet in return for a cease fire and negotiations.

Hux sneers. “They’re in no position to offer us _anything._ They should be begging us for mercy.”

I resist the urge to say _The quality of mercy is not strained._

“Armitage,” I say, “it would be better for the First Order to accomplish occupying the Core systems with as little conflict as possible if we’re going to transition from a military to a civilian government. Unless you want messy civil uprisings — and blood — on our hands. You already made a mess of things by destroying the Hosnian system.”

“Why do you keep returning to that?” Hux says, picking up his tea cup. “It’s tedious, Miranda.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just dwelling too much on the annihilation of five billion people.”

Hux and I glare at each other and then look to Ben.

“One more ground operation to take Coruscant’s central sector,” Ben says. “ _Then_ we’ll think about terms. In the meantime, we received the proposal from Gaia about their trafficking problem.”

He sends it to us, and we spend an astoundingly boring hour reading it and making notes.

“I think this is enough for us to leave them with,” Ben finally says. “Hux, put in the orders. We’re returning to Coruscant.”

He stands.

“Mira, suit up. We’re due in the training room. Bring your lightsaber. Expect an audience.”

“What?

“The cadets are getting a demonstration today.”

“Ren, if you’re going to plan instruction for the cadets, you ought to tell me first,” Hux says, annoyed. “Their regimen is fine-tuned so that they absorb just as much as they can without being overloaded with information.”

“Noted,” Ben says. “But sometimes there are unplanned opportunities. If the Resistance is seeking out Force sensitives, the troopers’ll need training to face them in combat.”

My stomach falls. “We won’t let it get to that point.”

“You _hope_ ,” Ben says. “But hoping doesn’t make something reality.”

I sigh and nod. “All right.”

Ben turns to leave. “Captain Asha will be part of the demonstration, too.”

Hux looks up from his datapad. “Asha? She’s not been trained in combat with —” Then he realizes and pales, angering. “Ren, if you have any more of your… your _people_ under my command, I’d thank you to _tell_ me.”

“Nope, there aren’t any others,” Ben says casually as he departs. “Not under your command, anyway. Half-hour, Mira.”

* * *

Asha and I face off against Ben together, as holodrones hover around us in the training room. She’s grown so much stronger, new techniques turning her into a whirling dervish of an opponent. She dances around Ben, dodging his heavy blows, leaving him open for me to strike at him. We use our sparring sabers for this demonstration, as the cadets look on from above, in a gallery surrounding the training room. Hux is there too, looking impassive in his uniform, standing with his arms behind his back, his presence turning the cadet’s moods into quavering excitement.

As I take note of this, I dodge one of Ben’s blows but miss the opportunity to counterstrike.

“Don’t hesitate!” he says to me through gritted teeth.

I call a second weapon from the stand on the side of the training room and feel the ripple of wonder move through the cadets. I use it, the burst of ego that Luke had always taught us to reject. I strike out at Ben’s right side, and Asha is ready on his left to take the opportunity to strike his side, right where the scar from the bowcaster bolt is.

He raises both hands, smirking at us as he drops his sparring saber. The cadets applaud, and then murmur as combat droids — six of them — march out and unleash a barrage of zap-bolts at us with almost no time to react. Ben, Asha, and I have our lightsabers in our hands and active in an instant, though, and deflect the bolts. Asha’s red blade doesn’t crackle as Ben’s does, but glows with a constant light and hum. The droids take the ricochets without being disabled, though — the zap bolts aren’t strong enough to damage them.

The three of this know this exercise well from the training yard at the Temple. We have to be able to move in close enough to engage the droids without getting hit by the bolts, which won’t _really_ injure you but sting like hell and eventually will make your limbs go numb. We size up the six droids, silently planning our attack. Ben is strong enough to barrel through the bolts, blocking them as he goes. The droid, programmed with enough sentience to be intimidated, draws back from his blade, its blaster hand wheeling to keep balance. Asha and I provide cover as Ben slices through the droid, and once Ben has moved from the droid’s line of fire, we slide beneath the flying bolts, sweeping droids’ legs with our blades and then stabbing them through their torsos. Half of them are down now. Asha immediately leaps up from her attack, Force-assisted, to dodge more bolts and kick down the approaching droid that’s firing them, while I spin around and pull the blaster from the fifth droid and slice it cleanly through its middle. I see Ben now, his blade stabbed through where the sixth droid’s heart would be, were it human. He pulls it out, and the droid collapses.

We look at each other, none of us out of breath. Ben and I faced twenty similar adversaries at once recently, after all, and who knows what Asha has done in the years since the temple. But the cadets are duly impressed. Hux leads a disciplined round of applause as we stand in the middle of the training floor. When it’s over, Asha steps forward and explains, in basic terms, the ways in which Force-users can manipulate objects, enhance their own physical capabilities, and anticipate opponents’ reactions.

“We will be incorporating a simulation of Force-using opponents into the training of the most elite of you in the coming months,” she says. “Make no mistake, this will make your training all the more challenging, and we will be expecting you to meet that challenge for the sake of the glory of the First Order.”

“GLORY TO THE FIRST ORDER!” the cadets respond in unison, startling me. “LONG LIVE THE SUPREME LEADER!”

I glance over at Ben. He’s standing with his lightsaber, deactivated, in his right hand, his left hand crossed over it in front of him. His gaze is on the floor, his hair falling over his face like a curtain. And then I look up at the young faces ringing the gallery, looking down at the three of us. I don’t know what the First Order is to them, besides a series of exercises and chants, prop piped into their ears while they sleep. Might securing order, order driving out the injustice of chaos, justice righting the wrongs of the caprices of chance. But just how is that related to the image of Hux with his hand balled in a fist or to the Supreme Leader with his lightsaber? Or to me, with mine?

Hux dismisses the cadets and they file out. When the gallery is clear, Asha turns to me and chucks me on the shoulder.

“Not bad for being rusty,” she says. “Just like old times, hunh?”

“Almost,” I say. “We don’t have to repair the droids ourselves now.”

I put my lightsaber back on my belt. I’ve grown accustomed to having it there again, just like at the Temple, the constant reminder that should I need to, it’s my responsibility to place myself in danger to defend others. Ben, on the opposite side of me from Asha, says without raising his head, “Thank you, Captain. You’re dismissed.”

Asha looks at him, concerned, and then sensing his lack of any disapproval, nods. “Yes, Master.”

She walks out, her tiny feet silent on the rubberized floor.

Ben paces the floor, looking up at the gallery, pausing between banners, where Hux had stood moments before.

“What did you do to Hux?” he asks quietly, without looking at me. His voice falls dead against the insulated floors and walls.

My cheeks begin to burn. He turns and sees me, my gaze turned toward the floor.

“Not — not like that,” he says. “I _saw_ what you did to his bed, and I can only assume there was a reason for _that_. But I mean, you told him something, made him believe something. His mind is… more settled.”

I don’t answer right away. I think of how well Ben must know Hux’s mind. After eight years being set against him, probing his emotions for weakness, he can feel it shift, the inner frothing desire for _more —_ more strength, more power, more resolution — settle into the surety of _having_ it.

“It’s just one of my talents, I suppose,” I say, not wanting to break trust with Hux. “Isn’t it why you gave me a job?”

He smirks. “Well, it certainly wasn’t your parrying skills.”

“Hey, there. I hate to tell you, Ben, but Asha and her tiny feet still beat you out there.”

Just then, I feel the slight jolt and surge into lightspeed. We’re on our way back to the _Finalizer_.

* * *

Ben and I go to see the children, to explain where we’re going and what will happen to them after we arrive on the _Finalizer_. I tell them that we’re going to do our best to return them to their families. Sarai begins crying, wailing for her mother, and I hold her on my lap until her sobs turn to shudders and she is asleep. One of the officers assigned to take care of the children takes her from me to take her to her bed.

Then Leo and Trist raise their eyes to us, and one of them asks, “What about us? We don’t have a family.”

“Not anymore,” the other adds. “And we don’t like the orphanage.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “We won’t take you back there if it’s not what you want.”

We leave the dignitaries’ suite somber and silent, looking, probably, how everyone expects Lord and Lady Ren to look.

* * *

I pause when we enter our room, surveying the effects of an apparent burst of anger the day before. The sofa has been overturned, its cushions torn open, the stuffing scattered across the floor. A mirror on the wall is cracked, broken in a spiderweb pattern from the central impact — a fist, perhaps. Probably. Definitely. Ben’s clothes from the day before are flung carelessly on the floor near the foot of the bed, a boot fallen over, a glove reaching toward us.

“Oh, Ben,” I say.

He furrows his brow, looking more weary than chastened. “Well,” he says. “You know what I am, what I’ve always been.”

“Do you think Kayfour was sending a passive-aggressive message by not having this cleaned up?” I ask.

“That’s probably because I told her to stay the fuck out my room when she came to the door to see if I ‘needed assistance.’”

“Oh, Ben.”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t be disappointed in me.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I just hate that you do this to yourself. Why be angry?”

“ _Why be angry?_ ” he repeats. “Seeing you like that — with his hands on you….” He sits down with a lurch on the foot of the bed, his eyes intent on me. “Hearing you laughing — I used to be able to look at you with him — and think of it like watching you in battle — you’re skilled, you’re strong, and you were using that. But you _love_ him. Yeah, of course I feel that. Love _Hux_. He’s petty, vindictive, cruel. What happens if you don’t want him anymore, if you say no to him? I can imagine what he’ll do, Mira, and it’s —” He breaks off and looks down at his hands. “Aren’t I enough?” His voice is low, the words almost mumbled.

I sit down next to him. “Enough for me? Yes, of course. A million times yes. But… remember when I asked you to stay with me on Gaia, leave all this behind? And you couldn’t.”

“Yes.”

“You know that there’s something you need to do, and you need to be _here_ to do it. You have to _want_ all this to find out what you can be.”

“And Hux is like that to you.”

“I have to feel what I do for him to be what you need me to be here.”

Because, somehow, if it had all gone differently, if I _had_ killed Hux, there would be something in Ben that wouldn’t have forgiven me for it. We are bound to people by our emotions, even hatred. And whether they admit it or not, Ben and Hux are bound by something more. I think of how when Ben is about to succumb to one of his rages, Hux might walk quietly over to him and say “ _Ren_ ,” in a meaningful way that makes Ben clench his first and flare with anger but then _calm_ himself — how Hux would do it even when the odds were equal that he would be thrown into a wall as listened to.

“It’s not what either of us intended or expected,” I continue, letting Ben follow my thoughts as I sit down on the bed to take off my boots, “but here we are. The First Order has unified leadership.”

He laughs softly, more breath than sound. “What do you care about the First Order? You’ve taken every opportunity to remind us — we’re evil, we’re killers.”

I flop down on the mattress, looking up at the dull metallic ceiling. “I don’t know. The First Order is what the galaxy _has._ The New Republic — it was failing even before the war. Your mo — Leia is a fierce, smart, capable leader, but how can a system so vast be governed with hundreds of systems, each going their own way? Hux is right, the populist experiment failed.”

Ben sighs. “You were always the one paying attention during political theory lectures, not me. I never pictured being here, being _this._ ”

He comes over to me, pushing his hair back from his face and sighing. He sits, hands still on his temples, and then lies down next to me, like when we watched the stars.

“What the fuck are we doing, Mira.”

“ _We are too young to reign,_ ” I recite. “I keep thinking of all their faces — the cadets, the children we saved from the Church. They’re _kids,_ Ben. Like we were. Do you remember — crying at night out of homesickness? Thinking that your body would never be strong enough? That your _mind_ would never be strong enough? What a burden to give children.”

“We’re strong enough now because of it,” he says.

“Are we?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“ _Hm_ ,” I say, and then turn toward him at the same moment he turns toward me.

“What do you think,” he says, without changing his expression, “about spending the rest of the trip back to the _Finalizer_ in our quarters?”

“Supreme Leader, what will people think?” I say, with a sly smile.

“ _Let them think_ ,” he mock-growls, and his eyes, as he turns toward me are teasing and dark and feral and knowing.

Knowing that I never want to say no to him. Nor he to me.

“Are you _very_ jealous?” I ask.

“Terribly,” he says, rolling over and framing me between his arms. “Horribly, fiercely, almost unbearably jealous.” He kisses me.

“Oh, Ben,” I say, a bit breathless, when he releases me from the kiss.

“ _Almost_ unbearably. But it’s like —” He takes my hand and then presses my arm down on the bed, tracing his thumb along the scars hidden under my tattoo — the one that says “ _Noli me tangere_.” _Don’t touch me._ “Feeling it does for me what the pain from that did for you.”

“Reminded me that I’m alive,” I say. “That, in spite of everything, I love living.”

“The pain, it reminds me of —” He presses his lips together, parts them; his lower lip trembles. “Of how much I love you.”

“I love you, Ben,” I say, the words spilling out before I can hesitate. And then everything comes tumbling after it, everything I’ve always wanted to tell him. “Even after I’m dead, my love for you will be part of the Force and it will flow through everything in the galaxy. And everyone, everything will feel it — that there once was a girl named Miranda Galan and she loved a boy named Ben Solo from the very moment she saw him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't use a lightsaber after smoking hashish, kids. Mira makes bad decisions.
> 
> When I wrote the line "I dream of being safe, and loved, and powerful," I realized that this was the encapsulation of Mira's motivation the whole time. There's literal dreaming, but then there's aspiration and desire -- and that's what she has always wanted. Safety, love, and power. And in pursuit of it, she was willing to do what she had to.
> 
> Epilogue next!


	51. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Finalizer.

Two days can be eternity if you spend them in the Force — eternity and an instant at once.

The Ben and Mira who emerge from the quarters on the _Absolution_ that once belonged to young Armitage Hux are not quite the same Ben and Mira who entered it. I think of what I told Hux, about how our selves are like the ocean, shifting and changing, but always retaining its essential nature. The ocean is always the ocean.

And I am what I ever was. Ben is what he ever was. The Force is as it ever was. It has tested us, separated us, and saw that we were too strong to succumb to temptations, too strong to stop seeking what we both we both knew we are destined for: Power. Power together.

And so when I walk beside Hux a step behind Ben as we make our way the shuttle that will take us to the _Finalizer,_ I am assured of the rightness of it. Hux looks at me sidelong, knowingly, and that is part of the rightness of it, too.

And then when we emerge from the shuttle in the same way, down the ramp into one of the _Finalizer_ ’s vast hangars as the vid drones record our return to our seat of power — and the officers and stormtroopers stand at attention as I let my eyes glide over them, I no longer feel the old doubt.

And when Petra Sloane steps forward from the line of officers and greets me, saying, “Welcome back, Counselor Galan,” I smile and take her hands in mine, sighing.

“Thank you, Petra” I say. “I’m so happy to be home.”

 

THE END

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for going on this 4-month+ journey with me! I've had a blast writing this fic, and I even already have a "Two Years Later" one-shot that I'll finish up soon.
> 
> I know there are loose ends -- What of what was going on with Hux and Petra every time the other was mentioned to them? What's going to happen with Padme? Will Leia find out her mother is alive? And poor Lussix, still in that psych observation unit? And Leo and Trist, the twins?
> 
> I know the answers -- and I may write something that reveals them. We'll see.
> 
> I admit, that when I set out to write this, I had a different ending in mind -- kind of like the version of the end of Great Expectations when Pip and Estella reunite and then part as strangers. But the characters took the narrative elsewhere.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you again. I've appreciated all the kudos and comments so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and sharing and all that lovely stuff are most welcome! Updates are on Monday and Thursday, unless I get impatient.
> 
> If you’ve gotten this far, you’ll have noticed that I did a bit of cheating by making Gaia, the planet where Mira is exiled, an exact analogue of Earth. It was just a way of not going down a research wormhole — and it’s a bit of fun, too.
> 
> Want to know what I listen to while I write this? Here's my [playlist on iTunes](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/intense-feelings/pl.u-2m6uNkkaBz). The songs aren't in any particular order, so shuffle!
> 
> If you're interested in my other writing, there are links on my [website](http://jenniferdeguzman.com/prose/). (I also write [comics](http://jenniferdeguzman.com/comics-portfolio)!) My SW fan Tumblr, where I'm starting to post longer chapter notes, is [here](https://the-call-from-the-light.tumblr.com/). And I'm @Jennifer_deG (regular) & @ZippaSix (fandom/fic) on Twitter if you want to learn more about me.


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